


Strike a Match and Let Me Burn

by Chanolay



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Ableism, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Amputee Bucky Barnes, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Bucky Barnes-centric, Car Accidents, Childhood Friends, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, F/M, Firefighter Steve Rogers, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mentions of Cancer, Natasha and Sam are good bros, Past Character Death, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Protective Steve Rogers, bucky barnes pov, past abusive relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-31
Updated: 2018-05-31
Packaged: 2019-05-16 10:21:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 23,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14809502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chanolay/pseuds/Chanolay
Summary: Bucky Barnes thought he’d had his life together once. He’d had a good job, a decent boyfriend, and his head on straight.He’d never expected the car accident that tore everything apart. Never expected the shiny new prosthetic for a left arm, the loss of his job, or the shedding of weight in the form of a scumbag ex-boyfriend.And when he had been trying to stitch the pieces of his life back together again, he certainly hadn’t expected a daring rescue from a burning building. Or for his rescuer to be his oldest friend and first love - Steve Rogers.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Wow, I can't believe this is over! I've had an amazing experience participating in my first bang of any kind. Thank you to Gabe [buckbarners](https://buckbarners.tumblr.com/) for his amazing art that inspired this fic and the additional piece that he made! And thank you to the [Cap RBB](https://capreversebb.tumblr.com/) team for holding such an awesome event!
> 
> Also, thank you to [lillupon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lillupon/pseuds/lillupon) for supporting me to the very end and editing!
> 
> Hope you all enjoy!

 

_August 22nd, 1996_

“Ma, why do we need a witness for this? I thought witnesses were for like crimes and stuff,” a young Steve Rogers asked his mother as he traced letters carefully on a piece of paper in purple crayon.

The other little boy, sitting pressed close to Steve and colouring in the borders of the certificate chimed in, “Nah, Stevie, it’s like- Someone’s gotta see that it happened. So’s the marriage people know we ain’t lyin’. Makes it more real.” 

“He’s right,” she answered, crouching down to see that the certificate was nearly done, a mix of purples, blues, and reds. 

Steve huffed, switching out his purple to bring pink into the mix, “That sounds dumb. Who would lie about that? People get married when they love each other. They wouldn’t lie.”

Sarah propped her chin up in her palm, hiding the hint of sadness in her eyes. Neither of these boys knew yet that this play-marriage would be the closest they could get to a binding ceremony for the foreseeable future, at least where they lived.

“Them’s the rules kid.” She reached out, ruffling Steve’s locks much to the child’s annoyance. “Now hurry up with that, we still got the ceremony to do.”

With that both boys ducked their heads down to finish off their makeshift marriage certificate. 

This was mostly Sarah’s fault. When the boys were younger, she’d shown them her wedding photos and told them about that wondrous day. She described how it felt to stand across from Joseph Rogers and promise him her care and devotion for his in return. The ring still sat snug on her finger even though the man had passed a few months after their little boy was born. 

The next day Bucky had dragged Steve over to his home and they’d poured over those wedding pictures too, quizzing Winifred and George about their ceremony. While it was a good thing to have these examples of loving marriages for the boys, the two of them seemed to want to pursue it for themselves - a desire formed when they were only at the tender ages of six and seven. Now a year had passed.

Sarah had been surprised when she learned how they felt about one another, though she really shouldn’t have been. Even the boys weren’t surprised. There was no drama, no confessions, no fear. They just started holding hands one day as if it was the most natural thing and that’s when Sarah realized that for them it was. Other folks would tell her they were just children that didn’t know better but she would fight them in a heartbeat. She’d argue that sometimes, children actually knew best. They had no fears yet, didn’t really understand societal norms and pressures, and just lived according to their feelings. Bucky Barnes loved her Steve Rogers plain as day and she knew that her son loved Bucky right back.

“Ma! We’re ready!” Steve called, voice growing closer as he ran into the kitchen with the certificate in his hands. 

Sarah, who’d unpackaged the ring pops and placed them into two little boxes, nodded with approval at the document. “That looks perfect! Alright, did you two talk about who’s walking down the aisle?”

“Yeah, Bucky’s gonna do it. He’s gonna tuck his shirt into his pants all fancy!” 

“Well then, let’s not keep him waiting. Put the certificate on the table and we’ll all sign it after the ceremony,” she said, tucking the boxes into the pockets of her cardigan. She wet her fingers under the sink to smooth back Steve’s hair. He needed a haircut to trim those bangs hanging in his eyes but she hadn’t had the time yet, what with her schedule at the hospital. 

“My God, how fast you grew up. I never thought I’d see this day so soon,” Sarah sighed, cupping Steve’s cheek. Some days, dark days, she thought she wouldn’t get to see it at all. Dr. Greenberg had quietly told her once or twice before that he didn’t think Steve would even make it to thirty with how often, and badly, he got sick. 

“Ma,” Steve curled his hand around her wrist, “let’s _go_. Bucky's waiting.” 

The ‘altar’ was two of her wooden brooms propped up with a white bed sheet draped over them. The fabric was split and tied to the handles, creating a pretty makeshift backdrop.

Sarah stood at the head with Steve to her left, the child clasping his hands in front of him. His eyes were glued to the hallway in front of them where Bucky was waiting around the corner. She began to hum the wedding march, watching Steve’s breath catch with excitement. 

Bucky, who really had tucked his t-shirt into his jeans, started down the hallway holding a bouquet of silk flowers. His lips were split in a grin as he took measured steps down towards them, stepping into his spot facing Steve with a near jump.

“Dearly beloved,” Sarah began, “we are gathered here today to celebrate the wedding of James Buchanan Barnes and Steven Grant Rogers.”

Both boys beamed at each other, giggling here and there when the giddiness bubbled over.

Sarah cleared her throat and continued, “Steve, please take Bucky’s hand and repeat after me: _I, Steve Rogers, take you Bucky Barnes._ ”

“I, Steve Rogers, take you Bucky Barnes,” he said in a rush of air, earning him a reminder to slow down and breathe lest he get an asthma attack during his own wedding.

“ _As my wedded husband, to have and to hold, from this day forward,_ ” she paused, letting Steve fumble through the words, receiving reminders from her to take breaths every few seconds. “ _For better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish._ ” Sarah had to repress a chuckle at how Bucky was literally bouncing in his spot with anticipation, eyes never once leaving Steve’s.

“‘ _Till the end of the line._ ”

“Till the end of the line!” Steve shouted, jerking Bucky’s hand between them. It was their saying, one that they’d heard Bucky’s uncle Robert jokingly tell his wife Marie once. The boys had thought it was so funny that they kept it up. Sarah hoped someday they could see the real significance of a saying like that.

“Alright, now Bucky,” Sarah smiled, turning to the other boy now, “please repeat after me: _I, Bucky Barnes, take you, Steve Rogers._ ”

“I, Bucky Barnes, take you, Steve Rogers.” The older boy spoke slower than Steve had, pronouncing each word clearly, the biggest grin on his face. 

For some silly reason, Sarah felt her throat tighten a little. Bucky Barnes was a wonder. Her little boy, sick and away from school so often, getting into fights or being picked on by other boys, was certainly the apple of her eye, but she knew it wasn’t the easiest being his friend. He couldn’t play outside very often, and when he could, never for very long. But Bucky… Bucky Barnes took it all in stride. He coloured with Steve, watched television and read books with him. He was always aware of how Steve was doing and never made fun of him for those things out of his control. And yet Bucky never babied Steve either. Still horsed around with him or whacked him with pillows during sleep overs. She felt blessed with her baby boy and Bucky was a blessing too - the perfect match for her son who had a spirit too big for his body.

“ _As my wedded husband, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse,_ ” she let Bucky recite the words, sniffling discreetly. “ _For richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish. ‘Till the end of the line._ ”

Bucky finished off his vows with a hint of wonder to his voice, the words fading off. He looked to grow almost shy, though the smile stayed on his features nonetheless.

“Now, Steve, do you take Bucky to be your husband?”

Steve let out a giggle, nodding before he got the words out, “I do!”

Sarah was smiling too, so happy she was sure she’d feel this same way at their actual ceremony (if they ever legally got to do that).

“And Bucky, do you take Steve Rogers to be your husband?”

The other little boy finally looked at her, “I do, Mrs. Rogers!”

Sarah nodded, dabbing quickly at her eyes. She pulled the rings from her pockets and opened the little boxes. They each contained a ring pop, one red and one blue. 

“Your wedding rings are a symbol of your promise to one another, of unending love. Steve, please take this ring and put it on Bucky’s finger.” Sarah held the one in her left hand out, letting Steve pluck the candy from the box.

He held tight to Bucky’s left hand, pushing the ring down until it hit the base of his finger. It was comical, how big the candy was, but despite how much the boys both liked sweets, they didn’t seem to be paying that aspect much attention. 

“Now Bucky, please take this ring and put it on Steve’s finger.”

Bucky plucked the ring free, easily slipping it onto Steve’s bony finger. 

“Well, without further ado, I now pronounce you Mr. and Mr. Steve and Bucky Barnes-Rogers! You can now kiss each other on the cheek.”

The two boys broke out in shouts of hooray, having to calm down to lean in and give each other quick pecks. They were both red-cheeked and jumping, hands clasped together with the flowers in Sarah’s hands because Bucky had gotten tired of holding them. She started jumping around with them, only to hear the _thump thump thump_ of Mrs. Henderson’s broom through the floor. That woman had the ears of a bat, though she also made heavenly oatmeal cookies.

Sarah took pictures, promising to get them printed and add them to their album. She’d taken so many pictures of the boy’s since they’d met - almost four years ago now - that she had to buy a large album for their photos alone.

That night, Steve and Bucky slept together in the living room, lying on the couch cushions that were spread across the floor. Sarah could hear their giggles and whispers from her bedroom but they were the soundtrack that carried her to sleep, her heart light and happy.

 

It was December of ‘99 when Sarah and Steve had to move. She hated to do it, hated to take Steve away from his home, school, and, most importantly, his Bucky. But there was a position at Indiana Regional that she couldn’t pass up. Things had gotten tighter these past few years and if she wanted to be able to put together enough to send Steve to college, she needed the best paying work she could find. So Sarah watched and listened to Steve cry and cry. He didn’t fight her, understood that they needed the money, but it hurt more to see him come into the kitchen in the mornings with puffy eyes from crying through the night. 

Bucky was in no better shape. They spent every minute together that they could during the two months after Sarah had broken the news, but all of those minutes were tinged with the sadness of their impending separation.

The car was packed for the drive, their apartment now empty with the keys sitting inside. Bucky and Winifred had come to see them off so Sarah stood with the other mother as they let the boys say their final goodbyes.

To her surprise, Steve darted into the car to pull something from the passenger’s seat. It was the album of their pictures - now from four-years-old to ten - and held it out for Bucky. 

“Y-You keep this so you don’t forget me,” he choked out, pressing the book into Bucky’s hands. 

The other boy stared down at the album, covered in stickers and strips of film negatives they’d used to decorate it. 

“Stevie, I can’t take this. All these pictures- how are you gonna remember me, huh?” He asked, swiping at his eyes with the back of his hand. 

Steve shook his head immediately, pushing the album harder into Bucky’s middle so the boy had no choice but to raise his hands to support its weight. 

“Pal, I could never forget you. Ugly mug like yours,” Steve answered, though the humour was dampened by the partial sob that followed. “Just take it, okay? I saved some pictures too. Keep it nice and then I’ll come back some day and we can look at it again.”

“Promise?” Bucky asked, eyes pooling with tears again. 

Steve stepped in close, wrapping his arms around Bucky’s neck, “I promise, Buck. I’ll come back for my best guy.”

Bucky tucked the album under one arm and wrapped the other one around Steve, burying his head in the crook of the smaller boy’s shoulder. “Okay, Stevie. Okay.”

Eventually Sarah had to call the boys apart so she and Steve could set off on the road and be in Indiana by night. 

It was a scene from the movies, Steve leaning out of his window as they pulled onto the road, waving his arm. Bucky was chasing behind the car, waving wildly right back, and then they turned the corner and the boy fell away from view. 

The drive was long, quiet for the most part, and Sarah held tight to Steve’s hand as the boy’s heart laid heavy in his lap.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A long one!

 

_Present day_

 

The morning started off slow, as all mornings did for him. Bucky Barnes just wasn’t a morning person and he never would be. 

The clock read 8:30AM though so he pulled himself out of bed. An appointment at Stark Tower for a check-up on the arm meant Bucky couldn’t dally long, no matter how little he wanted to go. Not if he didn’t want an earful from Tony Stark himself. It was easy to tune the guy out when he went off on his tangents, but worse when he was being sent on a guilt trip for showing up late. 

After a quick shower, he was in the kitchen reheating leftover Chinese from the night before for breakfast. Wasn’t the healthiest meal but, well, he stopped giving a fuck about those things after the accident.

He stopped giving a fuck about a lot of things after the accident.

Mouth full of chow fun, Bucky wandered over to his bookshelf for something to read on the train. He’d been trying to use his phone less, be more in tune with his surroundings. It wasn’t the hounding of baby boomers that prompted the change in habit but really, it was ridiculous how many youtube videos he could go through during a single train ride. The last bender he’d went on was watching videos about large ocean waves. Yes, fascinating, but what was he supposed to do with the knowledge from watching _Dramatic footage of Big Beach Waves in Maui August 2011_? Wasn’t like he had many friends to keep in touch with through his mobile anyways.

His eyes drifted across the titles on the first shelf and travelled all the way down to the last. They rested on something that wasn’t a book at all. It was an album, the only one he had, but one he hadn’t looked at in ages - a fact betrayed by the dust gathering on the top edge of the spine from months going undisturbed. The last time he’d touched it was during his move from Brock’s place. Christ, the day he’d decided to walk out he’d had to sacrifice carrying a second duffle of his things in favour of lugging the album out first. It was fine if Brock tossed his garments out before Bucky could come back for the rest of his things, but the album? He wouldn’t let it suffer any damage like that. 

Bucky shook his head, pulling his attention away from it to pluck his worn copy of _Frankenstein_ off the shelf instead. Those memories belonged to a different kid now. A kid who’d hate him for becoming the person he was today.

After his pills and a breath mint, Bucky was out the door, backpack on and ready to tackle the day. Despite the book, he had earbuds in and was listening to music on low. As much as he enjoyed Marvin Gaye, the music was more to drown out the sounds of traffic around him. He didn’t go into a panic as often anymore when there was a loud honk nearby, but he was always a little more on edge in the mornings.

It was about a 45 minute trip barring any delays on the trains - which would be a godsend. And, maybe it was his lucky day, because the R train came at 8:56AM on the dot. It was busy, but he managed to squeeze in and still have enough room to finger his book open and get to reading. 

He hated taking the train, especially at this hour. It was too crowded and there was so much bumping and grazing. When he was younger, had more energy, he hadn’t minded so much, but at the ripe age of twenty-nine, the old grump within him had emerged. At the end of the day though, it beat driving, and if there was any form of transportation he would refuse to take, it was a car. Not that he didn’t want to drive, but it wasn’t something his head would allow. Not yet, anyways.

He got to Stark Tower at 9:39AM with four minutes to spare until his appointment. Bucky spent those minutes fumbling for his wallet which- Oh.

“Shoot, must’a left my wallet at home,” he looked apologetically at the receptionist asking for his ID. 

“That’s alright, Mr. Barnes. Let me give Mr. Stark a call,” she smiled, picking up her phone. 

Damn, he must’ve gotten too reminiscent and left his wallet behind.

A handful of minutes went by with the receptionist making different faces, attempting to get a few words in edgewise but always being cut off. Typical, Tony. In the end she put her phone down and gave Bucky a smile. “You can head on up there now. Thanks for waiting.”

He gave her a nod and walked to the elevators. One thing he liked about the Tower - because otherwise it looked garish and harsh - was the view from the elevator. He watched Manhattan spread out before him until the thing came to a stop. 

“There’s my Robocop.” Tony smiled, spinning around on his stool to face the entrance of the lab when Bucky walked in.

Bucky rolled his eyes, pulling off his hoodie as he approached the examination table, “Hello to you too, Stark.”

With a smirk, Tony flicked his hands in the air to send some blue holograms hovering to his left displaying intricate blueprints of the arm. “Really? Last names? You’re literally getting undressed for me right now,” he chattered, waiting for Bucky to strip off his shirt. 

“The arm’s been fine,” Bucky started, sitting half-naked on the table. It was always uncomfortable, being examined like this. It only made him think of those early days after the accident when he’d been in the hospital, only beginning to come to terms with losing an arm. 

Tony pursed his lips, working on getting the small plate on the inner arm open. It revealed a panel that delivered a scan to his holograms, dates and time markers filling a new part of the screen. “Seems like you’re right. Three months with this bad boy and you’re adjusting quite well. So the weight, movement, is all fine? Does it feel like it’s tugging anywhere it shouldn’t?”

Bucky shook his head, “Nah. The last recalibration was good. Haven’t unintentionally smushed my sandwiches since I last saw you.” 

“Well, that’s great then! Having marinara from a pizza sub all over your arm wasn’t really a good look on you anyways,” Tony shut the panel back up and rolled a few inches away. “You know, you could definitely go back to work now.”

He’d been readying to pull on his shirt when the words made him stop. Bucky’s sharp gaze landed on Tony, only to find the man intently looking back at him. “Tony, they fired me.”

Replaced him the first chance they got. In hindsight it was a blessing, meant he didn’t have to work with Brock anymore, but it still made his blood boil a little. He was out on disability anyways, so he understood that they needed a replacement for him, but the passive-aggressive email they’d sent as explanation was definitely not necessary. He’d been at Hydra Corp ever since his internship through NYU and he’d been a damn good employee from the start. As a mechanical engineer he’d helped develop many successful projects as a part of the STRIKE team, but apparently when it came down to it, he was _“a valuable asset whose delay in rejoining the team showed a lack of motivation”_.

“I know what you can do. I’ve seen your portfolio, come work for me,” Tony spoke, picking up a small wrench, tossing it between hands.

Bucky gave a tired smile and shook his head, “Nah, Tony. I appreciate the offer but you’ve done enough for me. This arm, it’s...it’s- You’ve given me a second chance.” He finished pulling his shirt on and jumped off the table, reaching for his hoodie. This lab was an engineer’s dream. Gadgets and trinkets everywhere, literally robots roaming around working independently as Tony sat and wasted time on _him_. If he hadn’t been worth the Hydra labs then he definitely wasn’t worth these ones.

“That’s all, right? I’ll see ya next time, Tony. Thanks, again,” Bucky said. He knew he was leaving too fast, the air feeling heavy with words unsaid, which must’ve been rare for a guy like Stark. But Bucky was headed for the door with his heart beating a little faster at the awkward tension in the room. He sucked in a breath and turned slightly to look back at the billionaire still seated on the stool. “Hey, Tony?”

“‘Sup, Barnes?” the man called back, smirking in triumph at the usage of surname. 

Bucky, in his best attempt at a robot voice, spoke back, “Stay out of trouble.”

Tony’s jaw dropped almost comically at the movie quote, “Man after my own heart. I _knew_ I liked you.”

Bucky chuckled, relieved he could alleviate the strain before he left.

“Think about it, okay? I don’t offer jobs to just anyone. I’ve seen your work and I have good intuition about these things. Think of all the fun we could have quoting movies to each other as we worked.”

The elevator doors slid open and Bucky rolled his eyes, mostly with fondness. 

“Think about it!” Tony shouted as Bucky punched the button for the ground floor.

“Don’t count on it, chum!” he answered right back with another quote, this time foregoing the robot voice.

The noise Tony made as the elevator doors slid closed was something between a squeal and a groan.

 

Even though he didn’t have his wallet, he had a friend in the area. Natasha was his only friend really, and luckily she was working today.

Shield was supposedly a type of law-enforcement agency but Natasha’s specific role was a big question mark for him. Course he’d tried to ask, but when Natasha said things like “if I told you I’d have to kill you” she sounded _very_ convincing. At least she still had regular lunch breaks where he could go pester her for some cash.

“Hey Nat, left my wallet at home today,” Bucky explained when she joined him outside the Shield building.

Her cherry red lips pulled up into a smirk as she tucked her hands into her slacks. “So you’re here to beg me for money? Becoming more and more like a bum everyday, James.”

If anyone else had said something like that, he’d likely be offended, but Natasha’s tone was nothing but fond. And he had to give it to her - with his long hair, worn hoodie, and ripped jeans, he knew he wasn’t looking his best. 

“Well, I was going to beg and then take you out for some lunch,” Bucky answered, turning to walk with her down the sidewalk to one of their favourite delis. “We can eat wherever you desire.”

Natasha rolled her eyes, plucking a small wallet from her pocket and handing over a few twenties. “Remind me to thank myself for the meal,” she said, tucking the wallet away.

They’d met in college, taking the same second year math course, and the rest was history. She’d been there through all the hard times - his dad dying, the accident and the rehabilitation, and then Brock. Bucky felt like a completely different person after those last two, and not in the way that people evolve and grow after a significant life event. He was less one arm, less a steady job, and less a boyfriend. So many days were spent moping about in his apartment, avoiding any human interactions, and yet Natasha had still stuck by him.

“I ever tell you how much I love and appreciate you?” Bucky asked, holding the door of the deli open for her to step inside.

She shrugged a shoulder, “Yes, but I never tire of hearing it.” He couldn’t see her face, walking in behind her, but he knew she was smiling.

“So, how's the new guy? Sam, you said?” Bucky asked after they were settled with their respective meals. She was having cream of tomato soup while he had a beautiful meatball sub laid out in front of him - inspired by Tony’s comments earlier. There would be no embarrassment this time from accidentally squeezing it to death with his left hand.

Natasha smiled, stirring her spoon through the swirl of cream. “It’s going well. We just went on our second date.”

Bucky nodded, taking up his sandwich carefully, “Hard to work around your schedules right?” Her new guy was a firefighter and his shift schedule coupled with her hectic days made it hard to plan anything. 

“A bit. We keep texting, FaceTime here and there,” Natasha replied, taking a sip. “Nothing new with you in that area?’

Bucky resisted the urge to roll his eyes because Natasha knew better than anyone how difficult it was for him to pursue romantic relationships now. Not that he even tried. “Is there ever?” He knew what she was going to say next and gave her a look.

“What? Just one time. Let me set you up once,” she said, an incredulous look on her features. “A one time, total blind date. I’ll take care of all the details. Please? He’s a great guy.”

He sighed despite the food in his mouth, taking the time to chew and swallow before he answered. “Just once.”

Natasha’s lips spread into a smile, looking like the cat that got the cream, and then she reached out to thumb away some sauce from the corner of his lip. “Thank you. And as adorable as your bum aesthetic is, maybe clean up a bit for this date?”

Bucky swatted her hand away, grumbling as he took another bite. He knew she had his best interests at heart. Maybe one date wouldn’t do any harm. Hopefully.

 

And so lunch passed, as did a therapy session with Dr. Alvarez. It was getting easier to sit and talk with her, though there were still touchy areas he still couldn’t tackle yet. He knew that she was aware that he was keeping things from her still but they were having enough of a time working through the trauma from his car accident anyways. 

It was a year and a half ago now. He’d been driving to work, running late, shovelling breakfast down his throat on the way there, when a truck rammed the driver’s side of his vehicle. It hadn’t been his fault, when it came down to it, but Bucky knew better. If he hadn’t gunned it out into the intersection as soon as the light turned green, things probably wouldn’t have turned out so bad. But the reality was that he’d been the first one out into the open and put himself right into the path of a truck running a red. His first car, a beautiful ‘97 Corolla, hadn’t stood a chance. 

Really, he should’ve died in that accident but in the end he got out with severe injuries and a five day coma. When he woke up he was short one arm and if that wasn’t enough, he couldn’t get into the driver’s seat of a car without having a panic attack. In the beginning even hearing a car honk had put him on edge because he remembered the blare of the truck’s horn as it collided into him. 

After the session, Bucky took a stroll around Central Park, basking in the fresh air and the surroundings of green. He sat down, plucked his earbuds out, and pulled his novel from his backpack. It was a suggestion from Dr. Alvarez to acclimatize back to the city and the sounds of it - namely the sounds of traffic. Reading and listening was supposed to split his attention so that he wouldn’t be hyper aware of the honking or occasional screech of tires. At first it hadn’t worked. He couldn’t focus on the book not only because of the sounds around him, but because he was shaking too much to hold the damn thing steady. Now though, Bucky could sit through a good hour unless there was a particularly jarring or loud noise. 

He made his way back home after, feeling accomplished for the day. His head was in a good place and after he settled in and cooked dinner, he could enjoy some Netflix and head to bed. All was going well.

The 45th Street stop on the R train route was his, just a few blocks down from his place on 4th. It was a route he was very familiar walking, especially after he stopped driving. Every day the walk was more or less the same, but today, as he reached a corner to cross the road, he heard a rush of noise to his left. Stopping in his tracks, Bucky watched as people began filtering out of an apartment from the side exits. They all seemed to be tenants of the building, some dressed in their pyjamas, some carrying their children with bags on their arm that had baby items thrown into them. All of them gathered outside across the street from the building and craned their necks up. Bucky followed their gaze and that’s when he saw a plume of smoke coming out of one of the apartments on the fourth floor. There was a dull ring of a fire alarm too that would surely be loud and shrill for anyone inside the building. 

“Oh my God,” a feminine voice spoke beside him.

Looking over, there was a girl on her bike, stopped in her tracks with her eyes glued to fire.

“Oh my God. My cat,” the next second she had her feet back up on the pedals and was racing towards the building. 

He wasn’t sure what possessed him but Bucky followed. 

“Winter!” The girl shouted, dropping her bike to look through the crowd of people. “Oh my God, she’s still inside.” She turned to head for the door but someone caught her wrist.

“Child, are you crazy? There’s a fire in there, you can’t go back in!” The man spoke.

“Let me go! My cats in there. I have to go get her!” The girl shouted, tugging at her arm. 

The man refused to let go though, adding his second hand to grip higher up, “There is no way I’m letting a young girl go back in there for a _cat_. It’s just too dangerous.”

“Fuck you! Let me the fuck go!” She yelled in earnest now, the panic apparent in her tone.

Bucky closed the distance at a run, dropping his groceries near the two. “What apartment?” He asked quickly.

“Wh-What?” The girl asked as both their heads turned to him.

“What apartment? I’ll go get her.” 

“406. Oh my God, please. 406. It’s on the left side of the building,” she finally answered, her eyes pooling with tears

He should’ve stayed out of it, could hear sirens in the distance, but his conscience wouldn’t let him walk away from this. And, while he knew that girl would probably have been capable of getting her cat out, he was the one with the bionic arm. For all the times he felt like the tech was wasted on him, maybe he could put it to good use in situations like this.

So Bucky sprinted to the emergency exit on the left of the building, pulling the door open to climb the steps. When he reached the top floor, he could see that the hallway was hazy with smoke through the small pane of glass on the door. He had to cover his mouth as he stepped in, reading the number of the apartment closest to him - 401. Damn. The one he was looking for would only be closer to the source of the fire.

Sure enough, by the time he reached 406 his eyes were burning and every breath grated against his throat. The apartment with the blaze had to be the one beside him. The door was locked but Bucky aimed his boot below the handle and, after a couple kicks, heard the wood splinter. He pushed through, squinting to see through the haze. 

“Winter!” He called, covering his mouth right after and beginning his search. The space he first walked into was the living space, a kitchen to his right, and hallway to his left. There was no cat to be found but when he looked down the hallway, Bucky felt his stomach drop. There was only a wall at the end but the thing was, it wasn’t all there anymore. Parts of it were darkening from the flames but the base of the walls had already disintegrated. He was going to be cutting it close, that was for sure. Now he was starting to feel a little dumb.

Gathering his courage, Bucky ran forward and started throwing the doors open, shutting them right after. The first was a bathroom and the second was a closet, leaving the last room to be the bedroom. Flames were already climbing farther up the wall, just a few feet away from him, but he pushed the door of the room open anyways. 

The room was much worse off, the walls properly dark with holes that showed through to the other side. It was so hot, so hard to take a breath, but all of a sudden there was a cat at his feet. Coughing, Bucky reached down to take it up, ignoring its yowls at the sudden seizure. He turned around only to find the flames licking at the top of the doorway, hearing the crackle and pop as wood and wallpaper shrivelled under the assault of fire. Since there was no choice but to walk out through it, Bucky clutched the cat close and walked out. He knew he had to take it slow now, in case the floor was weakening beneath him. It was already hard keeping his eyes open, if the floor gave, him and the cat would both be in trouble. What he hadn’t expected was for the danger to come from above. 

The moment he stepped into the doorway, the header at the top dropped down upon him. Reflexively he tipped his head to the right to shield the cat in his arms but that meant the splintered wood caught him over the left cheek and shoulder. 

Bucky was sent down on his knee, his left arm reaching out to brace his fall. For a moment the sudden pain over the seam where metal met flesh sent him back; Back to the accident where, in one moment he was swallowing down a bite of toast, and the next he was horizontal. There was pain, disorientation—the sense that something was wrong. He was on his side he realized. No- his whole damn _car_ was on its side. And when Bucky looked to his left, where the pain felt like it was searing through his veins, all he saw was blood.

Claws digging into his arm brought him back to the present and God, was he ever thankful. The pain wasn’t actually that intense - especially not compared to the decreasing ability to see and breath. 

Bucky got to his feet but once he was upright he found he couldn’t move the way his mind was telling him to. He was wobbling and his chest quaked with coughs and the struggle to inhale. 

Oh God. Maybe he wasn’t going to make it out of this. 

When he made it to the head of the hallway, Bucky leaned against the wall for support. The dizziness was getting worse and how damn _hot_ it was wasn’t helping. How the hell was he going to make it down four flights of stairs when he felt like collapsing right then and there?

Briefly he shut his eyes for some respite, trying to pull himself together enough for the trip back out to fresh and cool air. When he opened them next, there was another person in the room. A person dressed in bulky yellow garb with fluorescent stripes and a mask. A fireman, he realized belatedly.

Bucky made an attempt to hand the cat over, as if to say _“take her and forget about me”_ but the fireman paid the movement no attention. Hell, maybe Bucky hadn’t even moved at all because he sure as hell didn’t feel like he could control his muscles anymore.

After the next blink, Bucky felt the ground disappear beneath him. Maybe the floor had finally given under him like he’d been worrying about. Except when he opened his eyes the fireman’s mask was right in his face. Oh, he was being carried. To safety. So maybe him and Winter would survive this.

His eyes fell shut, trying to concentrate on breathing despite how the jostling wasn’t making his headache any better, nor was the sensation of the mask smacking against his head with every step. A door slammed shut behind him somewhere, and he felt movement stop for a moment. When it started up again, there wasn’t anything hitting the side of his face any longer. Bucky forced his eyes open for a second to see what had changed. They were in the stairwell, he noticed first, but the main difference was that he could see the fireman’s face now. Before he let his eyes fall back shut, Bucky noted that those were some of the bluest eyes he’d ever seen. 

“Gonna get you and the cat out of here, don’t worry,” the man spoke and with that tone of voice, so sure and authoritative, Bucky believed him. 

He clutched the front of the fireman’s coat once they began descending the stairs, feeling the jolt of each step to the marrow of his bones. It was just like when they extracted him from the car after the accident. Every shift had sent a flare of pain through his body but in hindsight he knew the shock had been dampening it. At that point he hadn’t even realized just how bad it was, only knew that there was a lot of blood.

Bucky could feel the air growing cooler and cooler until there was no trace of heat left. He felt something being pulled from his arms - Winter - and thanked God he could get to her. If he hadn’t she probably wouldn’t have made it out of there. 

“I’m taking you to the medics. I know it must be real hard to breathe but they’ll get you some oxygen and that should help.”

Despite his beliefs, the cool air hurt just as much to inhale. At least he could get lungfuls though, not surrounded by all that CO2 anymore. It had been similar when he was taken out of the car, too. Once the pressure from the seatbelt was removed and he was laid onto his back, he could take proper breaths again.

He knew what was next: the hospital. God, he hated the hospital. He was useless there, especially when he woke up with an entire arm missing. Months of being coddled, of going to do things with his left arm only to realize it was gone. And he’d been so alone. His ma and sister were out of the country since Becks was in Vienna on exchange and his ma had decided to go for a visit and explore Europe at the same time. Bucky’s emergency contact had been changed to Brock anyways and, wow, what a mistake that had been. Of course he hadn’t known at the time what a complete dick his boyfriend of three years actually was. Not that the things Brock had said weren’t true. He had been useless, burdensome, a bore. 

“Just keep breathing. You’re doing great, pal.” The fireman’s praise cut through Bucky’s thoughts. 

He could feel the steps slowing down, like they were reaching a stop, and his fingers immediately tightened in the man’s coat. “I don’t want to go to the hospital,” he spoke, voice hoarse but quiet, knowing it was useless. He almost felt like crying and wasn’t that hilarious? He wasn’t upset over the fire or over the near-death experience, he was upset about the fucking recovery.

  
  


“Hey, it’s going to be alright. They need to take you to hospital because of all the smoke you inhaled, because buddy, you breathed in a lot. But you’ll be fine, you look like a tough one.”

Bucky’s brows drew inwards. Tough? Hah. He wasn’t tough. He’d been weak, depressed, and pathetic. Funny how he heard those words in Brock’s voice. “You don’t even know me,” he muttered, finally.

The fireman didn’t answer for a moment, not until Bucky felt them come to a stop. “I can tell. You’re a fighter. And you saved that cat. You could do this all day, right?” He felt the man chuckle and Bucky spared a second to think _what a goon_ , but maybe he’d ended up speaking the words aloud because the man laughed again. 

Once the fireman set him down, there were two medics working around Bucky. They started swabbing his mouth, looking up his nose, and examining the sound of his lungs. Not long after there was an oxygen mask pressed tight over his nose and mouth, providing a steady supply of cool air. He hoped against all hope that there would be no hospital involved but, like the fireman had said, his exposure to the smoke had been too long. Eventually he was loaded onto an ambulance, made to lie down while they put an IV in his arm.

The dizziness was starting to subside, but the oxygen still aggravated his sore throat. Now that the adrenaline was wearing off, Bucky just felt tired. He found it harder and harder to keep his eyes open until he finally dozed off. 

There were doctors and tests, the oxygen mask a constant, and when Bucky was finally able to settle into the bed, the clock read 8:46PM. He felt exhausted and alone. His phone had died sometime during his treatment, but a nurse lent him a charging cable so it was resting on the overbed table by his head. He had them call Natasha so she would be here anytime now.

Bucky laid there, feeling small and vulnerable. Since he was in the emergency room, he could hear patients in the spaces beside him, their family or friends talking to them quietly. 

_“No one cares about you. Not even your own ma is coming,_ ” He heard the ghost of Brock’s voice in his ear.

Bucky shook his head to clear it from his mind.

 

Back then he had told his ma not to rush back from her long awaited trip. He’d reassured her that Brock and Natasha would be there for him. And Natasha was. She came nearly every day if she could, for at least an hour. Brock, on the other hand, came to see him regularly for about a week before his visits started to lessen, turn sporadic. He got too busy with work, or with socializing- 

_I can’t come see you today, the drive is just too long, you know?_

_I gotta go to an event tonight, need to network to get ahead of the game, you understand right?_

_It’s not like you can really do anything, I’d just be sitting there on my phone - we’d both be bored, wouldn’t we?_

Every excuse turned into a question that sounded slightly reasonable, that toyed with Bucky’s head, making him answer: _Yeah, I know, it’s okay. Alright, I understand, have fun. You’re right, we’d be bored._

And then, whenever Brock did make time to come, he came into the room and saw Bucky’s arm, or lack thereof, and his face would just take on this dark look. Like he was annoyed or angry that Bucky’s arm hadn’t magically grown back. At first Bucky wanted to interpret that as sympathy, protectiveness, but really it was just Brock remembering that his boyfriend was now damaged, defective, lacking.

 

His skin felt cold, chilled by the negative spiral he was getting lost in, but he could only wrap his arms around himself. An apology was stuck in the back of his throat with no one to apologize _to_. Metal fingers were digging into his skin, hard enough to bruise through the thin fabric of the hospital gown. He wasn’t even worth the damn thing, such advanced technology wasted on some insignificant thing like hi-

“Hello?”

Bucky’s head jerked up, eyes snapping to the person peeking through the curtains. It was the fireman from earlier. He had his hat off this time, coat gone too, and was just in a grey FDNY shirt that was tucked into his uniform bottoms, suspenders up. 

“Hey, sorry to visit you like this. My shift just ended and I thought I’d come and see how you were,” the man continued, stepping into Bucky’s ‘room’ proper, closing the curtain behind him.

Now that he wasn’t so disoriented, could breathe properly, and there wasn’t a fire threatening his life, Bucky could really take the guy in. 

And heck, the man was a _tall drink of water_.

Broad shoulders, cropped golden hair, defined jawline - Bucky’s vitals monitor was the thing to remind him to stop staring with how its beeps grew a little quicker.

  
  


The man smiled knowingly, looking down to the floor for a moment. Such long lashes, Bucky observed, and _oh_ , the bluest eyes he’d ever seen.

There was something familiar about him, something comfortable and warm. And a wild thought occurred to Bucky that he could answer his questions by having those arms wrapped around him for only a second. 

“How are you feeling?” The guy asked, stepping closer until he was standing at Bucky’s bedside, hands in his pockets.

Bucky, though he’d had many sips of water throughout the past few hours, still had a sick rasp to his voice when he lifted his mask to speak. “Been better.”

The man nodded, smiling, “That was a crazy thing you did back there. Winter’s owner told us you ran in to save her. I’m supposed to tell you not to do things like that but...well, you got her out. You’re a hero in my book.”

His cheeks warmed at the words, ridiculous really - they were possibly just empty platitudes meant to comfort him. “You’re the one that got her out. And me,” he swallowed hard, meeting the man’s gaze momentarily - Christ, it was so focused, like Bucky was the only thing his attention was centered on. “Thank you for that. You saved us both.”

Adorably enough, the man’s cheeks seemed to start colouring too, and he ducked his head to the side shyly. “Aw, it’s my job, you know? Gotta keep the people safe. You’re the one that just ran in there. Again, I’m to advise you not to do things like that. Really close call there. And you got hurt.” The man jerked his chin towards Bucky’s face. 

He reached up to touch his cheek, feeling the bandage over the graze he’d gotten from that fallen doorway beam. “Are we competin’ or somethin’?” He mumbled, letting his hand drop back to his lap. Suddenly he was very aware of how visible his metal arm was but there was nothing to hide it with - he felt self conscious about it all over again. 

The man noticed but thankfully didn’t ask, just keeping that smile on his features. “Were you able to contact anyone?” He asked.

Bucky gave a nod, glancing over at his phone. Honestly, no matter how awkward it was to have this Adonis at his hospital bedside, he liked the company. Someone to talk to, to keep his thoughts from spinning out of control - made him feel less tiny. And the guy just had this...sense of ease to him that Bucky couldn’t put his finger on. The feeling was either familiarity or how one might feel like around an eager Golden Retriever.

“Is it alright if I just sit with you until that person comes? I understand if you say no. I’ll get out of your hair if that’s the case.”

He blinked up at the guy, dumbfounded. He _wanted_ to stay? But why? 

“Well, because I know what it’s like to be alone in a hospital. Used to get sick a lot. I didn’t like the feeling. Thought maybe you wouldn’t like it either? I don’t know, I’m just assuming things, so don’t mind me and let me know if I’m bothering you,” the man answered. 

Whoops, he must have asked that aloud.

Eventually Bucky nodded, looking down into his lap as his hair fell into his face. “You can stay. Thank you.” He answered, tangling his fingers together. 

“That’s great! Thanks for letting me,” the man responded, pulling the chair close and sitting down. “Name is Steve, by the way. Steve Rogers.”

And then Bucky’s world seemed to flip upside down.

Steve Rogers?

No. It couldn’t be.

Steve was in Indiana somewhere, he thought. Steve was _smaller_. There was no way his Stevie Rogers, 90 pounds soaking wet, was this Greek God sitting beside him right now. 

“Y-You from Brooklyn?” Bucky stammered out, his eyes glued to Steve’s face now.

He was officially losing it because...If he looked hard enough he thought he could see a slight resemblance. Those blue eyes, the wheat blonde hair, the crook in the man’s nose from when Steve had broken it in third grade. But still, it couldn’t be possible. 

“Sure am. Moved to Indiana when I was eleven but I recently moved back. Brooklyn’s always felt like home,” Steve shrugged. “You?”

Bucky couldn’t even answer. This was Steve. _Steve_. His little Stevie Rogers. In December it would be eighteen years since they’d seen each other. 

For some reason, after Steve moved away, they couldn’t keep in touch. They tried, sent letters or called, but their lives were just pulling them in different directions. Bucky got busier with school, football, and then his dad got sick. The last he heard of Steve, he’d told Bucky that he was making friends in his new high school. And maybe a part of it was that Bucky knew they were drifting and just wanted it to end. Steve had found new friends, had a new life, and it was one Bucky couldn’t fit into being all the way in New York. 

“Still with me?” Steve asked, gazing intently at Bucky.

“Oh, y-yeah. Sorry. Just- I’m still a little tired, I guess?” Bucky quickly got out, effortfully pulling his eyes away from Steve.

“That’s alright, I understand. You’ve been through a lot tonight,” Steve answered. “Did you though? Grow up here…Oh, wow, I just realized I didn’t get your name, I’m sorry.”

Bucky swallowed down hard, staring at his hands now. He must’ve looked like an animal that would spook and run at any second. And that was mostly true, probably would if he could, but since he was trapped on this bed, Bucky bolted in a different way. “James.”

“James?” Steve repeated.

Nodding, Bucky kept his head down. Better Steve not get a good look at his face and somehow recognize him too. It was going to be fine. After today, they would part ways and Steve would be none the wiser. He wouldn’t have to know what a pathetic mess his childhood friend had become. Short one arm, life in shambles, almost dying trying to save cats. He had to fucking sit in a park so a honk wouldn’t send him down panic attack lane - how sad was that? 

No. Steve could keep the memories of the kid Bucky didn’t even know anymore. If Steve even remembered him at all. It was clear a lot of things had happened during the past few years for the guy, getting buff and becoming a firefighter who saved people’s lives. 

Down the hall there was the rapid click of heels against linoleum, the curtains of his room being parted shortly after. 

“James, what the hell? A fire?” Natasha came walking in, stopping right at his bedside. She was staring holes into the side of his head until she read the air in the room. No one knew him better than her, and that combined with Natasha’s talent for reading people and atmospheres, had her catching on quick. 

Her gaze flickered from him to Steve, and back again. She sighed, relaxing her posture to engage with Steve, “Hello. My name’s Natasha, James’ friend. You are?” She asked, holding her hand out, ever the professional.

“Steve,” the man answered, rising to his feet and taking her hand as well, ever the gentlemen. God, in another life maybe the two would be perfect for each other.

Natasha raised her brow, an expression of intrigue, as the handshake ended. “And are you two friends or?” 

Steve started shaking his head, which stung, as irrational as that was.

“No. He saved my life,” Bucky answered, still not looking up at anyone. 

“Well, James here did most of the hard work. He went in there to save a cat. I just helped them both get out,” Steve added on, pocketing his hands with a shrug. As if saving two lives wasn’t a big deal. Steve may have grown bigger, but if there was one thing that hadn't changed, it was that he was still humble as heck.

“I see,” Natasha replied, her voice going hard at the end as her gaze returned to Bucky. It made him wince because he knew he’d get an earful later. 

Steve cleared his throat quickly and took a step back, “I’ll leave you two to it then. Thanks for putting up with my company, James. I hope you feel better real soon. Again, that was a really brave thing you did there and there’s a girl and a cat that offer you their endless gratitude. It was nice meeting you Natasha.”

Natasha tipped her chin down in an eloquent goodbye but Bucky could never do something so graceful so he darted his gaze up for only a moment before saying, “Bye. Thank you.”

Smiling, Steve gave a small wave before leaving the room. 

Only when Bucky couldn’t hear those footsteps anymore did he relax, leaning his head back onto the pillows. 

“Alright, while I’m very interested in hearing about this fire story, what was all that about?” Natasha began, circling around the bed to take the spot Steve had vacated. “I felt some strange tension there.”

“That was Steve Rogers,” he answered with a sigh, resting his flesh palm over his eyes. 

“You mean…”

“Yeah,” Bucky nearly groaned, “my Steve. Or- The Steve I grew up with.”

“And he just saved your life,” Natasha continued.

Bucky nodded. He hadn’t even thought of it like that yet. Hell of a way to meet his childhood love again.

“He didn’t look like he knew who you were, _James_.” Natasha always used his first name anyway, deeming ‘Bucky’ too childish a name for a grown man, so how did he still understand what she was getting at by stressing his name that way?

“That’s because he doesn’t. I didn’t tell him,” Bucky confessed.

A long pause followed, heavy with a disapproval Bucky didn’t need to see to feel. He eventually did pull his hand away from his eyes though, looking over at Natasha.

Her lips were pursed, brows pulled inwards, but she wasn’t angry. There was that disapproval but there was also empathy, understanding. 

“Hey, don’t gimme that look. It’s fine. It’s better this way. He doesn’t have to know that Bucky Barnes is this sorry mess now.”

“James, you know I don’t like it when you talk about yourself like that,” Natasha said, gentle but firm, reaching out for his flesh hand. 

He closed his fingers around hers and gave her a tired smile. “I know.”

“So, the fire.” 

He spent the next hour suffering under her wrath, accepting a tight hug as well. He was good with this. He had her, he had his ma who was driving up from New Jersey where she’d been visiting with Aunt Carol, and Becks would wake up to his texts about what happened and lecture him too. He was good. 

And if there was some part of him that yearned to see Steve again, he tamped it down hard and locked it away. Some things were just better left untouched. Bucky had already had his time with Steve and tons of precious memories - an entire album of them, in fact - and it’d be greedy to ask for more than that.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I know this is an inaccurate portrayal of emergency victim rescue but oh well- look at all that amazing art!


	3. Chapter 3

 

In the end Bucky had stayed in the hospital for three days. It certainly didn’t go as bad as the last time - loneliness buffered by Natasha’s frequent visits plus his mom returning from her trip. She spent all the hours she could at Bucky’s bedside, working on her latest crafting project - a tote bag for Becca that featured an adorably grumpy cat on it. Apparently it was to remind his sister of him. He couldn’t see the resemblance. 

There weren’t any delayed symptoms - something the doctor and nurses said he should be thankful for with his amount of smoke exposure. And though Steve never came back to visit - much to his relief (or dismay, maybe a bit of that too) - he did have a surprise visitor in Beth and her cat Winter. The three took a walk around outside, the grey tabby cat wearing a little harness, and he was promptly bombarded by Beth’s profuse gratitude. Though that got him blushing and mumbling, the most gratifying part was having Winter come up to him to rub her body along his leg; and when they sat down, her jumping up and kneading at his lap before making a circle and plopping down. She had been purring under his light scritches over her head and that was the best Bucky had felt all throughout the entire hospital stay.

Coming home was a different story. His ma had to go back to work since she’d already called in sick on Friday. She taught high school English and she had to, in her own words, _“go back to my babies”_. Natasha couldn’t take the day off, no matter how unhappy she seemed about it, since apparently there was some kind of vital assignment she had to work on. And so Bucky made his way home alone, easy enough with his headphones and Metrocard. And really, being home in itself wasn’t a bad feeling, it was just the memories he associated with what happened the first time around.

After the car accident and the lengthy hospital stay, Brock had picked him up and seemed to be genuinely happy again. Bucky almost thought the hospital had been what Brock was trying to avoid, what got him on edge, and not Bucky himself. For a short while, his worries about his relationship fell to background as his acclimatizing back to regular life began. It had been so difficult. More than ever, he felt the loss of his arm. In the hospital there were nurses doing things for him that kept him from realizing just how much he would have to relearn how to do. Back in his own home, he was having a hard time even twisting the cap off a jug of milk. Bucky had to rely on Brock frequently, which only added to his growing frustration and shame. What would’ve helped would’ve been a caring and understanding, patient, partner; but instead what Bucky got was a boyfriend who would give him looks, kept on sighing, grumbled with every request for assistance. He could feel those eyes scrutinizing him whenever they were together, watching him and waiting for him to fail. Car rides had been touch and go at the time. He found himself able to ride along in the passenger seat but nearly everything had him on edge if not worse. Braking too hard, sudden stops, cars honking, and God, even entering intersections made him clench his jaw with anxiety. Brock realizing that Bucky was having these issues, seeing him have sudden panic attacks even, seemed to get the man angry - as if he was being personally offended by the inconveniences. It didn’t take him long to get vocal about his distaste and disappointment.

_Come on Bucky, it’s been six months already, you should be able to do this by now._

_Are you even trying?_

_Seriously? We’re out in public. Get a hold of yourself._

Instead of improving, Bucky felt like he was falling into a pit that he’d dug himself. A burden, a nuisance, a helpless man with one arm missing. And the person who he’d hoped would be his support? Well, that guy was standing above Bucky by the edge of the pit, tossing dirt right back over him.

Now, in the present day, he didn’t have a new devastating loss of limb that would hinder his daily life; but for some damn reason he went about his apartment, opening cupboards or washing dishes, and he heard Brock’s whispers behind his ears. 

He looked in the mirror after a shower, and stared at the myriad of scars from where the metal of his car door had shredded into his arm. When Brock had seen that, his face had gone all twisted, likely with repulsion, and Bucky could agree - handicapped, incompetent, disfigured - he was lucky Brock had even been tolerating him. Not that the man really did. Certainly never touched him again after that. All the intimacy of their relationship disappeared the moment a semi-truck slammed into Bucky’s car. 

He sighed, bracing his hands on the edge of the vanity, and dropped his head between his shoulders. Dr. Alvarez could probably help him work through how much Brock had fucked him up, but Bucky was still resistant to go there. She could give him tips on how to not hate himself, but how would she change how another man might feel about him? How they might look at his scars or his metal arm? She couldn’t and Bucky didn’t want that confirmed just yet.

His phone vibrating on the granite pulled him from his thoughts and he reached for it. A text from Natasha lit up the screen.

 

> **Natasha Romanoff** : Got your blind date set up for Friday. No excuses, you have four days to keep recovering.

 

Bucky sighed, towelling off his hair and stepping into the bedroom. A date. A damn date. He hadn’t been on one since he met Brock. Was this even a good idea? He was a complete mess - how was he going to hide that? And if the guy had been chosen by Natasha, it was a given that he’d tick off some of Bucky’s boxes for attraction, or character, or sense of humour. If he actually liked the guy, then the aftermath would hurt all the more.

Pulling on his pyjamas, he made his way to the living room and collapsed down onto the couch, staring at the blank TV screen. There wasn’t a choice about the date at this point. He wouldn’t do that to Natasha nor the guy on the other end. He’d go, let his date see the pitiful human being that he was, and then it would be over.

Sighing again, he sunk lower into the cushions, feeling bone tired. Bucky’s eyes briefly drifted to the bookcase, gaze pulled to the album. He’d been very careful the past three days not to dwell too long on those memories, on Steve. 

His- No, not his- _The_ Steve he’d met again had been from another planet. Maybe it was the smoke inhalation messing with his perception, but he remembered Steve looking absolutely radiant. That smile hadn’t changed at all, bright and warm like the damn sun. And though he was tall, buff, big in everyway that Bucky could see, he spoke in a soft and sure voice, deep and comforting.

It was bittersweet. On one hand he was glad, amazed, at the person he could see Steve had grown into, but then that showed that Steve had truly moved on. As much as he had the same features, the same smile, he was a different man now - one that Bucky didn’t know. It was an irrational way to think, he knew that, because of course Steve was different. Nearly two decades had passed since they last saw each other, but Bucky held dear to his heart this memory of a scrawny blonde kid, the perfect size to fit under his arm, who stood up for every just cause and never backed down from a fight. It wasn’t disappointment, no, it was.....like feeling left behind. 

And that was exactly the reason why he could never let Steve see him again. Dealing with Brock’s disdain was one thing, but if Steve ever looked at him even slightly how Brock had done? He couldn’t bear to even think about it.

Bucky shook his head, trying to shoo all those thoughts away. He couldn’t keep thinking about that and so maybe a date would be a good distraction, at least until the end of it. Taking a deep breath, Bucky pulled up his conversation with Natasha, and replied with a text asking for the details.

 

Friday rolled around sooner than Bucky had wanted. He was nervous, despite the laissez-fare attitude he’d been trying to trick himself into believing. Natasha had chosen a Malaysian place on 8th Ave that was just fifteen minutes away from him on foot. The proximity wasn’t because she expected them to go back to Bucky’s place after, but so he wouldn’t have to travel too far and he was thankful for that. As much as he expected it to go bad, if it really did, then he’d likely want to get home as soon as possible to wallow in self-pity. 

Bucky tied his long hair back, light stubble darkening his jawline. He had on black jeans - no holes this time - a white t-shirt, and a denim jacket over it all. It was simple. Not too shabby looking but not too dressed up either. He didn’t want to set the bar too high in case, miraculously, they would go on another one of these.

He got to the place first and was seated near the back. It was cozy and fairly busy with lights dimmed and tasteful wallpaper all around the room. True to her word, Natasha hadn’t told him anything about the guy, not even his hair colour, so Bucky really had no clue what he was looking for. As a distraction, he started perusing the menu, glancing at the door every few seconds.

By the time he realized just who his date was, it was too late to escape. He would be having words with Natasha. 

At first Bucky stared at the figure that entered the restaurant, frozen with shock and disbelief. When he realized his eyes weren’t playing tricks on him, he started praying that the man wouldn’t look Bucky’s way and recognize him. The next second he lifted the menu up, holding it spread open to shield his features. There was a steady stream of _please, please, please_ as he felt the seconds tick by, hoping that the man wasn’t headed his way, but of course those hopes didn’t come to fruition.

A voice cleared its throat, making Bucky reluctantly look up. 

“James?” Steve fucking Rogers asked, a friendly smile on his features as he looked down at Bucky. There was no sign of recognition at first. Not until a moment later when one of Steve’s brows arched up, “Wait.”

Bucky's heart stopped. 

“Aren’t you the guy who tried to save a cat during a fire last week?”

Wha- Oh. Right.

A stilted laugh left him as he set the menu down. “Y-Yeah, I am. You’re...Steve, right? The fireman.”

A _fireman_. God, the pieces were all fitting together now. Natasha’s new guy was a firefighter. Him and Steve probably worked at the same hall and that must’ve given his devious friend this brilliant idea.

“Sure am. Funny meeting you here like this. Guess we can skip the formal introductions then,” Steve chuckled, taking his seat across the table.

Bucky felt his heart racing, blessed the stars there wasn’t a heart rate monitor attached to his finger this time around. “Yeah. I guess. I...I’m guessing you know Natasha through her boyfriend Sam?” He asked.

Steve took up his own menu but his eyes were locked on Bucky, like all of his attention was focused on him, which was both daunting and yet brought warmth to his cheeks. 

“Yeah, he’s my best friend. I’ve met her only a few times now - including at the hospital - and she said she knew this perfect guy that, if anything, could reintroduce me to Brooklyn,” he explained with a gentle smile. “What about you? Why are you such an expert in the borough?”

Bucky’s eyes were glued to Steve’s features, unable to look away as the man spoke, no matter how the gaze in return made his stomach tie in knots. Seeing him again, without the shock of meeting him suddenly after eighteen years, meant Bucky could take notice of other, smaller, details. Like the light dusting of freckles across the bridge of Steve’s nose that he remembered. He finally answered a few seconds later, tearing his eyes away, “Oh, I see. Natasha’s my best friend. We’ve known each other since second year of college,” he began, looking over the same menu items he’d looked at before, and added, “I was born and raised in Brooklyn.”

Steve made a hum, turning his eyes down finally too. “Well, it’s real nice to see you again. I was wondering how you were doing. Guess you’re fine if you’re out and about now. I’m glad.”

His heart did a little flutter. How did Steve do that? Still be so concerned about someone he’d met only once during an emergency a week ago? “Thanks. And...Well, obviously this dinner is on me. You saved my life. I should’ve reached out sooner to thank you properly.”

“Hey, it’s my job to fight fires and make sure all living beings are out of harm’s way. You don’t need to thank me with dinner. I’m happy to see that you’re well and back on your feet - that’s good enough,” Steve answered. 

Bucky didn’t have a response for that, thrown by the sincerity. A waitress came by to take their orders and he settled for some classic Mie Goreng while Steve ordered Hainanese Chicken Rice.

The silence that followed was awkward at best but Bucky had no words. His throat felt stuck with shock, dismay, and fear that Steve would figure out who he was. And he knew some of that must’ve been showing on his face. 

In the end Steve gave a nervous chuckle, rubbing at the back of his neck, “M’sorry if I’m a bit awkward. I haven’t been on one of these in a long while.”

Bucky shook his head, lacing his fingers together under the table. “No, I’m the same on both counts.” 

Steve offered a commiserating smile and cleared his throat, “So now that I’m off the clock, I really want to know - why’d you go into the fire for the cat?” 

Pursing his lips, Bucky started with a shrug. “I couldn’t walk away. When I was standing outside of that apartment building that night, and saw Beth all panicked, I just knew I had to do something. And I…” Bucky chewed his lip, thinking about what questions might follow if he brought the subject up. He threw caution to the wind, would deal with the subsequent questions somehow. It was probably best to get it out the way and see what Steve's reaction to the prosthetic would be. “I have this arm. It’s made of the strongest metal in the world and some advanced tech. I figured I could put it to use. They came to see me in the hospital actually, just yesterday, Beth and Winter.” Steve didn’t interrupt once, didn’t rush him through his words or give him any impatient looks. Bucky glanced up, finding that Steve’s gaze was again settled upon him.

“I just want to say again that that was really brave of you. It was reckless and dangerous as hell, but it didn’t end as bad as it could’ve and now Beth and Winter are both safe and happy,” Steve responded, a small smile on his lips. For some reason, those little criticisms didn’t sting. “And also, that arm is really cool.”

Bucky’s brows shot up. Cool? Sure, he’d had kids use the adjective about his arm sometimes when he was out in public, but more often than not people thought it was intimidating, frightening, unnatural. He rarely wore short sleeved shirts by themselves, always trying to hide as much of the arm as he could so he wouldn’t get as many of those looks. “You think so? I mean, the tech is really cool but...Most people find it scary.”

Steve shook his head. “I think it’s cool. I think the people who find it scary aren’t giving credit where it’s due. If only they knew its owner was using it to save animals from burning buildings.”

Bucky gave a light snort. “It was just the one animal. And it’s not like I’ve ever used it for stuff like that before. It would probably be more suitable for someone like you that’s always saving lives.”

“Hey pal, just cause you pick your nose with it too, doesn’t make it wasted on you or something,” Steve replied, a smirk raising his lip.

A surprised huff left Bucky, “I do not do that.”

“Sure you don’t,” came Steve’s response. God the guy was still a cheeky goof wasn’t he?

“The gunk would get stuck in the spaces,” he muttered, looking down at his hand as if he was considering it.

A beautiful, angelic, sound came from across the table and Bucky realized that Steve was laughing. It wasn’t loud or hysteric, but Steve’s shoulders quaked with chuckles as he picked up his glass of water. 

“I like that you’re actually thinking about it,” he spoke, gesturing his glass towards Bucky’s arm before he took a sip.

Bucky rolled his eyes with a small smile on his lips. “So, what brought you back to Brooklyn?” 

Steve set his glass down, watching it as he twisted it around a few times. “I’m an army vet. Did four tours in the Middle East across nine years. I decided I’d had enough but...some people who live under conditions like that for so long start to need the rush and pressure. I came back to the states and just felt lost. There wasn’t exactly a place for me to go back to so I decided to plant my roots in my very first home. I met Sam at the VA and he introduced me to the idea of firefighting. Rest is history, I guess.”

A soldier. He could hardly believe it. 90-pounds soaking wet, asthmatic and sickly the last Bucky had seen of him, and that kid had become a _soldier_. A shudder ran down his spine to think of how much danger Steve had been putting himself in. Leave it to him to chase a fight so far as to go across the globe. Really, Bucky shouldn’t be surprised.

“And what about your ma?” Bucky asked without thinking, curious as to what Sarah Rogers was up to these days. “A-And your dad?” He quickly added. 

His memories of Sarah were coloured a golden hue, too. She was one of the sweetest and strongest people he’d ever known. He remembered her endless grind to provide for Steve, never revealing how tired she was or how much she was struggling. She always had time to answer their questions or look through albums with them, entertaining their ideas and playing along. 

Steve stopped fiddling with his glass, jaw working. Bucky felt the air go tense, worried briefly that he might have been found out, but his gut was telling him the cause was something else. 

“My ma passed away when I was seventeen.”

Bucky’s breath caught in his chest. He stared, unable to find words for a completely different reason than nerves. Seventeen. That meant a decade had passed already. And he hadn’t had a clue, couldn’t have even offered his condolences at the time. Steve had been so young, basically a kid. 

“O-Oh, Steve. I’m so sorry,” Bucky stammered out, feeling his eyes sting. God, he couldn’t cry, couldn’t show how strongly that affected him because that would be weird for a person Steve had only just met properly.

Steve shook his head, a brief, forced smile jerking the corners of his lips up, “Thank you. It’s been quite a while now. Lots of things have happened since then. Weird that it still gets me choked up sometimes.”

Bucky was shaking his head right away, almost reaching out for Steve’s hand because he hated the embarrassed look on that face. “No, it’s definitely not weird. She’s your ma. Course it still hurts. And you were so young too. I really can’t imagine how hard that was.”

A look of quiet gratitude passed across Steve’s features as he leaned forward in his seat. “It was, yeah. She got real sick and most of the money she’d been trying to save up for my education was spent on hospital bills. S’why I joined the army out of high school.”

There was short pause where Steve seemed to get lost in his memories, his gaze going distant and misty. “Brooklyn was her home too. She always talked about coming back here after I was done school,” he continued softly. 

Bucky was searching for what to say when Steve leaned back and quickly rubbed at his eyes, “Gee, I’m sorry for getting the air all heavy with that. Thanks for listening though.”

“No, Steve, thank you for sharing,” Bucky responded.

Their food arrived after that and thankfully the conversation moved on to lighter topics.

Steve asked about his family and Bucky told him about his dad passing away two years back; accepted condolences about that and marvelled at how genuine Steve’s care was. He told him about how his ma was an inner-city high school teacher and that his sister was in Vienna on exchange. She was an art history major and that seemed to bring a light to Steve’s eyes. If only Bucky could tell him that Steve’s sketches had been one of the things to develop Becca’s love of art. When he was out at some kind of practice and Steve came over to wait for him to come home, that was the time that Becca would get Steve to colour or draw with her. Even at ten Steve had been an amazing artist but most of all he had been patient and nurturing, teaching her how to draw horses and superheroes. 

Apparently Steve had studied visual arts in college as well and Bucky joked about how he was free to model anytime. The way Steve looked at him after that comment had sent a tingle down Bucky’s spine.

He was never asked about his job or his arm, thankfully, but it seemed Steve could tell that he didn’t want to broach those subjects. Every time they got near to it and Bucky’s heart picked up a little with dread, Steve turned the direction someplace else. Talking about his job meant talking about his accident, and as much as he already felt he had recovered, those topics were too risky.

Either way, Steve listened, was attentive, and Bucky couldn’t ignore the pull that had him leaning in. Only when the waitress came by to take their dishes did they both seem to realize just how close they’d been gravitating towards each other.

He was surprised just how easy it was to talk to someone he’d thought he didn’t know anymore, but he was finding out that Steve really hadn’t changed that much. He was that same kid who had a full-bodied laugh and snarky comebacks. Everytime Bucky said something that had Steve slapping a hand across his own chest, leaning back with laughter, he felt triumphant and giddy. 

Against all odds, the date was going well. And, against his better judgement, he couldn’t help but feel that Steve was having a good time too. 

There was a small voice in the back of his ear telling him it couldn’t last. Steve didn’t know who he really was yet and when he did, when he knew about the accident and the panic attacks, then he would come to his senses. Then he’d understand what a dump Bucky’s life had become. 

Somehow, two hours had gone by in the blink of an eye. They’d split the bill and were now outside, their date winding down to a close. Bucky didn’t even want to part ways but it was getting late and going back to his place might send the wrong message. Not to mention it was full of potential things that could give him away.

“So, James, I was wondering if I could get your number?” Steve asked, a tinge of pink across his cheeks. “I mean, I had a really good time tonight and I’m hoping you did too. Maybe we could do this again…?” 

Bucky blinked owlishly, and then felt his cheeks grow warm too. “Y-Yeah. Sure. I had a really good time as well. Here, just um, put your number in there.” He held his phone out to the man.

Steve had had a good time, presumably had enjoyed Bucky’s company, and wanted to go on another date. Wow. Maybe he had died in the fire, or fallen into a coma from the smoke inhalation, and this was all a dream.

“Done,” Steve spoke, handing the phone back, their fingers brushing during the handover. A shiver ran down Bucky’s spine despite the warming spring night air, and he knew exactly why. 

On top of everything else - the baggage, the deception, and the enjoyment - Bucky was _attracted_ to Steve. He’d always been in love with him as a kid, felt like he was born that way, but now his attraction manifested in a quick flicker of his gaze to Steve’s lips, to the long line of his body. It meant wanting to know how those arms would feel around him, those fingers in his hair, those lips on his. Even the idea of just holding Steve’s hand made Bucky’s stomach go all fluttery. 

Steve seemed to draw in a little closer too, though they were nowhere near touching, and had to consciously stop himself. “I’ll message you,” he spoke, voice going soft so the words stayed between them, in their little bubble.

Bucky nodded dazedly, licking his lips, “I-I’ll be waiting.” 

Those deep blues seemed to light up, the corners crinkling as Steve smiled. This time he did move in purposefully, his arms opening up, just slow enough for Bucky to stop him if he wanted to. But Bucky knew exactly what the movement meant and he definitely did not want to hinder it. He opened his arms as well, stepping in the rest of the way.

Steve wrapped him up in the most satisfying hug that Bucky had ever engaged in. It wasn’t a brief thing nor was it intimate. It was just their arms around each other and Bucky close enough to smell Steve’s aftershave and shampoo. He had to resist burying his nose into the crook of the man’s neck, but he did tip his head down into Steve’s shoulder, shutting his eyes for a brief moment to revel in the feeling. God, maybe he was just touch starved but the way Steve was holding him made him want to melt—it was warmth and safety, tender. 

When the hug ended, Bucky nearly made a noise of complaint, only stopping by biting down on his lip. He knew the blush that had bloomed earlier must’ve been darker now but, oh well, Steve’s cheeks were reddened too. 

“Goodnight, James,” Steve whispered, his hands lingering on Bucky’s arms. 

“Night, Steve,” he answered. “See you soon. Thanks for saving my life again.”

Steve chuckled, stepping away, “Anytime, pal.”

The walk home was spent in a daze, replaying the entire night over again in his head, especially that last part. A few days ago he had firmed his resolve not to see Steve again and here he was now, fresh out of a perfect date with the guy, possibly another one on the horizon. He was getting himself into trouble, with the lies and the inevitable outcome when Steve learned who he was; except during their long conversation, Steve never once mentioned a childhood friend in Brooklyn. Bucky had been so tempted to probe, came close a few times in asking if there were other people in the area that Steve knew, but still there was no word. Maybe Steve didn’t even remember him. Maybe he’d been the only one missing the guy all this time.

Bucky got home and finally checked his phone, opening up his chats to see messages from Natasha but also two from Steve.

 

> **Steve Rogers** : Hi James. Wanted to say again that I had a really nice time tonight. Please try not to endanger yourself saving any pets between now and the next time we meet. 
> 
> **Steve Rogers** : If you want to see me that bad, you can just text me instead of calling 911 ;).

 

Bucky snorted, running a hand through his hair. He was in so much trouble.

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short one!

 

Since that night they traded at least one text every single day. Steve, it turned out, was way goofier over messages, and Bucky found himself constantly smiling because of it. Even when conversations died out and he worried that Steve would finally stop making the effort to talk to him, he’d get a picture of a funny looking cloud or a cute dog. Though Steve couldn’t tell, for Bucky it felt as though they’d gone right back to being friends again after so many years apart, with something deeper brewing beneath the surface. 

And that was why Bucky thought constantly about telling the truth. He came close so many times, typed up half-baked texts that he ended up chickening out on sending. Each day that passed made it harder for him to come clean because he grew just a little bit closer to Steve and worried about ruining it all. Of course if he fessed up the other man would drop him like a stone. Who would want to be with someone pathetic enough to lie about this? On top of that, he’d tarnish whatever memories Steve had of him, if he even remembered Bucky from their childhood. But each day brought more guilt, especially when he was looking at texts that read  
_‘Hope you have a nice day today’, ‘Saw this picture and thought of you’, or ‘We should go out on that second date soon’._

The latter one made his stomach both clench up with dread and glee. On one hand, he wanted to be near Steve again, maybe get another hug out of him, but on the other it meant lying right to Steve’s face and he wasn’t sure how long he could keep that up for. More often than not his responses were an agreement without any further elaboration. Maybe Steve picked up on his reluctance because he didn’t push either. 

In the end, the only thing Bucky knew for certain was that he wanted to be around Steve more and that he’d have to tell the truth at some point. 

As it turned out, they met again before a second date was actually planned.

 

> **Natasha Romanoff** : Are you free Saturday evening?
> 
> **Bucky Barnes** : Yeah, sure. What’s up? 
> 
> **Natasha Romanoff** : I want you to meet Sam. Steve will be there.

 

He swallowed, setting the phone down in his lap and staring at it.

 

> **Natasha Romanoff** : Judging by your delay, I’m guessing you haven’t told him yet.
> 
> **Natasha Romanoff** : You know that can’t end well.
> 
> **Bucky Barnes** : I know. I’ll tell him. Just not yet. I’m not ready yet. 
> 
> **Natasha Romanoff** : James :(. 
> 
> **Bucky Barnes** : I know. I’m sorry. Please, I just need some more time.

 

She didn’t respond after that, probably knowing full well that Bucky would beat himself up over it anyways. He was being completely unfair to Steve, not giving the man enough credit. Steve was such a genuinely good human being he probably wouldn’t get angry or shout or say hurtful things like Bucky deserved. Somehow imagining that was worse though - picturing Steve’s face unsmiling, disappointed - just accepting it and politely telling Bucky they couldn’t be friends anymore. A shudder rolled down his spine and he tipped his back and groaned up to the ceiling.

Despite all the worry, when Saturday came, Bucky found himself excited to see Steve again. They were all meeting at a coffee shop by Steve and Sam’s firehall after both men had finished their day shifts. 

This time around Bucky was the last one to get there, entering the quaint establishment to find the three others at a table already. He smiled at every one of them but his attention lingered on Steve the longest, their eyes meeting for a few seconds as warmth spread across his cheeks. He took the seat beside Natasha and looked over at Sam, offering a hand out, “Hi, it’s nice to finally meet you. I’ve heard surprisingly very little.”

Sam chuckled, taking Bucky’s hand into a firm shake. He had a winning smile that immediately put Bucky at ease. Based on that alone the guy seemed to be the opposite of Natasha, who had a reputation for coming off as stony and cold to people she didn’t know.

“Sounds about right. I learnt more about you from Steve than from her,” Sam responded. 

Natasha just rolled her eyes, lips tugging up at the corners. She was a cryptic person by nature (and Bucky had a suspicion that her job made use of those skills too).

His gaze drifted to Steve, who he found watching him right back. The man looked good today as usual, in a plain t-shirt and navy jacket. Bucky smiled shyly, eyes turning down under Steve’s attention. 

Sam cleared his throat and Bucky looked up to find an amused look on the man’s face. “You know,” he began, only for Steve to groan, “this guy over here won’t shut up about you. Did you get a picture of a cloud from him yesterday? Because he rushed out of the building to snap a pic of one he said you would like.”

Bucky couldn’t help but smile, face feeling downright hot now. Steve couldn’t stop thinking about him? Christ, he could get use to this novel feeling. “I did get the picture,” he confirmed. 

“Natasha, why don’t you do stuff like that for me?” Sam turned to the woman under question, brow raised. 

She took a sip of her Americano, just staring right back at him. “I just don’t think of you all that often,” she deadpanned.

“And that, children, is a perfect example of a kind and caring relationship,” Sam turned to Steve and Bucky, gesturing in a flourish towards her. 

They both chuckled and that sort of light humour set the tone for the rest of their meal. Sam and Natasha traded snarky banter but it was evident from the twinkle in their eyes that they loved it. For the first time Bucky was seeing someone that was Natasha’s match, not trying to overpower her or put her down, not intimidated by her - at least not in an obvious way - and he could see why she liked him so much. 

This was a safe way to see Steve as well. He never spoke solely to the man for more than a sentence or two, and the group conversation never got into personally touchy areas. So he got the pleasure of seeing Steve again with no risk of revealing himself. Course he sometimes caught Steve staring at him and definitely got found out for doing the same. Steve was just too mesmerizing not to take in every chance he got. 

They were in the middle of waiting for their bills to come when a voice piped up from behind him.

“Bucky?”

Going still, Bucky’s eyes widened a fraction when he heard his name. He’d been so close to turning, to responding, before the awareness that Steve was right in front of him stopped him. The chill of panic trickled through his veins as he tried to figure out what to do. If he made the wrong choice then the jig was up. He hadn’t even had the chance to tell Steve himself and now it was all over. 

Ironically enough, it was Steve who answered the stranger. 

“Who the heck is Bucky?” 

Bucky’s eyes shot up to Steve, only to find a puzzled look on the man’s face that wasn’t directed at him, instead to the stranger behind him. 

Whoever it was must’ve gotten confused, hesitated, and Bucky heard him take a step towards them. “Could’ve sworn I recognized…’

Natasha’s arm was around the back of his chair in the next second, turning her body to the side to look at the man. “Oh, Happy? Is that you? What a coincidence. Not sure what a Bucky is though. You remember James right? Tony made his arm.” The deflection was smoothly executed in her even tone, expression betraying nothing. Bucky was tense, eyes kept locked onto the table, but he swore if he got out of this without getting found out, he’d owe the woman his life.

“Right, sorry. I...Must’ve been exposed to something in Tony’s labs. Hi James. How are you?” Happy spoke, his voice a little stilted though he did step into Bucky’s view. At least the guy was perceptive and was playing along.

He looked up briefly, flashing a quick smile, “Great, Happy. Thanks for asking.”

Happy nodded awkwardly, clutching his paperbag of take-out and taking a step back, “Well, I’ll leave you all to it then.” 

When the man was gone, Natasha turned back in her seat.

“Well, that was a little weird,” Sam said, brows furrowing before he shook his head. 

“Big city, mistakes happen,” Natasha shrugged.

Bucky still felt on edge, risking a glance up at Steve to see if there was anything amiss there. Instead Steve just looked concerned, reaching out to settle his hand on the side of Bucky’s arm.

“You alright there, pal? Look like you saw a ghost.” He asked.

A nervous chuckle left him before he nodded, “Um, old friend. Happy, I mean. Caught me off guard is all.” 

Steve made a noise of understanding and drew his hand away.

They paid their bills and all had to part ways. Apparently Natasha had some more work to do and Steve and Sam needed a good night’s rest. He was sad to see Steve go but there was another thought niggling at the back of his mind. 

Bucky ended up walking to the nearest station with his best friend and once they were out of earshot from the other two men, he whispered to her, “He doesn’t even remember me.”

Natasha glanced his way but didn’t respond for a moment. “Maybe he doesn’t. Isn’t that good for you then?” She asked, pocketing her hands as they walked down the street. 

“I guess,” he answered. Steve didn’t remember a Bucky, didn’t show any signs of recognition at all going by the way he asked _“Who the hell is Bucky?”_. And that was good, he supposed, since it might lessen the damage when Steve learned that Bucky remembered him from their childhood. But it also sent a pang of sadness through him. All of those memories, just forgotten? Even though he’d known Steve had moved on, he hadn’t expected the man to forget about him completely. He said as much to Natasha, only for her to sigh. 

“James, you should just tell him. Now you know you have less to lose. Maybe he doesn’t remember your shared past but he’s clearly very into you right now. So what if you lied? Explain yourself and apologize. Then you can jog his memory,” she said, nudging his arm as they descended the steps into the underground. 

He took in a deep breath and nodded. Yeah, maybe it was only fair this way. He couldn’t have it all - the past, the present, both on his own terms. Maybe this was the universe just balancing things out. In the end, Natasha was right, he did have less to lose, which meant he’d have to tell Steve the truth sooner than later.

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And the very last one! This is where the E rating comes in.

 

Their texts hadn’t suffered from the awkward ending to the dinner so when Steve mentioned going on their second date again, Bucky asked for a time and a place. It actually involved no planning on his part at all as Steve declared he wanted to take the reigns and plan it all out. It was going to be on the coming Saturday so Bucky had a week to firm his resolve and visualize how he was going to break it to Steve. As daunting a task as it was, Bucky found himself growing happier each day with that decision made. He’d tell Steve, get things off his chest, and maybe there was a chance that everything would be alright. 

The week passed by slow and fast at the same time. He went to the therapy sessions, went to the gym, sat down in parks and listened to the traffic around him, and felt better than he had in a long while. Bucky even went to get his hair trimmed and picked up different products to change his haircare routine. After five days he was already seeing results in more soft, lush hair. Steve still sent messages too, random things that either had Bucky intrigued, smiling, laughing, or all three. 

Closer to the day of the date, Steve gave him a time and instructions on what to wear - nothing fancy, but comfortable instead. When Saturday finally arrived, Bucky studied himself in the mirror for the umpteenth time. He was dressed in a grey crew neck sweater and black jeans (again) with a leather jacket thrown on top. His hair was down and loose, just brushing his shoulders now. Bucky felt...good, genuinely so, and he couldn’t remember the last time he’d ever felt this sure of himself. He liked who he saw in the mirror and, with any luck, he’d like his reflection more after getting the truth off his chest. 

At 5:30PM he heard the sound of his doorbell and went to answer, feeling his heartbeat quicken. When he pulled the door open, what he saw first was a bouquet of flowers, then the other man’s face as he lowered them. 

“Oh wow,” were Steve’s first words, those eyes running over Bucky’s figure with interest. 

It sent heat rushing through his body, made him fidget and blush, and God did the attention feel good. He wanted to preen under that gaze. Steve looked at him like he _wanted_ him which was such an unfamiliar feeling these days. 

“James, you look...incredible,” the other man finally added, forcibly bringing his eyes back to Bucky’s face, “did you do something to your hair?”

Bucky tucked a few stands behind his ear at the mention of it and nodded, “Yeah. Just a little trim. New shampoo.”

Steve gave a nod, “It looks real good too. Looks really soft.” His words seemed to trail off and Bucky could practically see him resisting the urge to reach out and touch. Steve cleared his throat the next second and held the bouquet out again. “Here you go. You can put those inside, I’ll just wait out here.”

Bucky took the bouquet, marvelling at the mix of pinks, greens, whites, and yellows. He’d never gotten flowers from Brock, not even before the accident, but Bucky realized this wasn’t the first time he’d held a bouquet. His head pulled up an image of silk flowers in his nine-year-old hands, walking down an aisle towards his eager best friend.

When he went back out, Bucky saw Steve waiting at the bottom of the steps, looking attractive as hell in a brown leather jacket, grey t-shirt, and blue jeans. That poor shirt stretched tight across Steve’s chest, making Bucky want to know what it felt like to run his palms over those pecs, have those hands on his body in return. The thought of Steve seeing the arm and being repulsed by it was still a very real fear, but he decided he’d cross that bridge if he even got a chance to go there. After all, the possibility still existed that Steve would drop him the moment he found out he’d been deceived. 

“You look good too by the way,” Bucky said as he descended the steps to stand by Steve, smiling over at him shyly. 

An adorable flush of colour spread across Steve’s cheeks as the man grinned. “Thank you. Now, you can tell me if it’s not your speed, but I was thinking we could go to Coney Island? Haven’t been there since I was a kid so I thought it would be fun.”

Bucky blinked. He knew Steve hadn’t been there since he was a kid because he’d been right there beside the guy, egging him to go on the Cyclone only to have him spilling his guts into a trash can right after. Bucky had felt terrible the entire way home that day, his only consolation was winning Steve a prize at a ring toss game. 

“Y-Yeah. I’d like that. Are we taking the train?” Bucky asked. 

“I actually rode here on my bike,” Steve said, gesturing to a Harley parked across the street, “but we can definitely take the train if you’re more comfortable with that.”

He stared at the thing, taking in the glossy black paint and the leather seat. It wasn’t a car, which was a plus, but he’d never ridden a bike like that and wasn’t sure how it would affect his head. But he’d be right behind Steve, could hold onto him, and that was completely different compared to his experiences driving. “I’d really like that,” he finally made up his mind, “I’ve never ridden before.”

“Never? Alright, so we’ll have to go through some ground rules but we’ll be alright. I won’t let anything happen,” Steve assured. He took a step forward and, much to Bucky’s surprise, held his hand out for Bucky’s.

His face grew hot in record time as Bucky curled his fingers around Steve’s and let himself be led over. 

The ground rules were simple - to do about helmets, waiting when getting on and disembarking, leaning with the turns - but Bucky’s real focus was on the warmth of Steve’s hand around his as the other man spoke. Regrettably he did have to let go, but one thing was traded for another as Bucky settled in behind Steve and wrapped his arms loosely around the man’s middle. The moment the bike moved his arms tightened but other than that, and the natural adrenaline of doing something different and somewhat dangerous, Bucky felt no adverse effects. He trusted Steve anyways and found himself enjoying the ride. 

About thirty minutes had gone by when they came to a stop, the lights of Coney Island beginning to shine. The sun was on its way to setting but there would be daylight for some time yet. 

“It’s just like I remembered,” Steve marvelled as they approached Luna Park hand in hand.

Bucky grinned at the look on Steve’s face, so similar to the way he would look at the place when they were kids. How could Steve remember that but not remember him? “Could you tell me about that? The first time you were here?” He probed.

Steve gave him a brief glance before nodding, “I was here with a friend. My best friend. It was the summer before I moved away. He bet me that I couldn’t ride the Cyclone and I did, only to lose my lunch afterwards.” 

Bucky gave a forced smile in response. How could he not remember him? Steve seemed to remember his childhood friend, so how could he not remember his name? Unless Bucky had misinterpreted what Steve had meant in the cafe a week ago. All of a sudden that sense of dread began to return. If that was the case then Steve _did_ remember, essentially taking Bucky back to square one with his inner turmoil. Only, this time Bucky had prepared for days to face any outcome. He took a deep breath and held himself together. One way or another, Steve was going to find out tonight. Just maybe at the end of the date - if this was all headed south then Bucky wanted the date to at least go well up until the end.

They walked around first, Steve making comments about which games he still remembered. He brought up how his friend had won him a stuffed animal wayback when and Bucky had to bite his tongue from spilling the truth right then and there. Dinner consisted of hot dogs, not extravagant, but easy and quick. It left them room to play some games and Bucky found that he could win a lot more with the consistency his metal arm provided. Steve complained about that during every competitive game, although there was the fondest look in his eyes everytime Bucky handed off his prizes to children passing by. They did ride the Cyclone, and Steve looked a little queasy at the end of it, but no guts were spilt. 

When night fell proper and they had gone through all the rides they were interested in, Bucky and Steve moved to stroll along the boardwalk. The lights of the amusement park lit up the sky and Bucky could hear the shouts of park patrons mingling with the waves on the shore. For the first time in a long while he was outside in the open without music in his ears and it felt like freedom. Sure, there were no cars around to set him off, but it was still a small triumph.

“You look happy,” Steve commented, taking in the way Bucky had shut his eyes to bask in the feeling. 

Their fingers were knitted together and Bucky leaned into Steve’s arm. “I am. I...I was in a car accident almost two years ago now. It’s how I lost my arm - T-boned by a semi as I pulled out into an intersection,” Bucky swallowed hard, hearing the sounds from his memories of metal ripping apart and scraping against asphalt. “Ever since then I haven’t been able to drive, have to walk around with earphones in. Right now, this is the first time I’ve been outside without music playing in a long time. I know it’s not a street but it’s just...refreshing.”

Steve hummed in understanding and after a long, thoughtful pause, replied, “I think I know what you mean. I have PTSD and triggers that I need to be aware of. Fireworks, any sudden loud noises that are out of place, can get me on edge if not worse. Being a firefighter has helped me a lot in that area, getting used to the sounds of the city and all that.”

A part of Bucky was amazed that Steve wasn’t ridiculing him or calling him weak. In fact, Steve was offering up his own experiences showing him that he wasn’t some pathetic outlier. This was the kind of support he’d hoped for during his recovery. 

“Do you ever miss it?” Bucky asked quietly, studying Steve’s features to see if he could probe the topic further.

“In a way. There isn’t anything I miss that hadn’t been solved by my current job; The adrenaline rush, fighting for a cause, working with a team. I miss my pals from the army though, but they’re all alive and I keep in touch with them,” Steve answered, eyes kept forward.

Bucky nodded and muttered, “I’m glad you were able to come back, Steve.” Despite their eighteen year gap in friendship, he couldn’t imagine Steve dying and never finding out. If he had, he thought a part of him would just _know_. A world without Steve in it would be a darker place.

The other man smiled, giving Bucky’s hand a squeeze. “And I‘m glad you survived that accident.” He raised their hands to his lips, pressing a kiss over Bucky’s flesh knuckles. The gesture was so tender that it made him stop, turn slightly towards Steve, and search those eyes. It was a question left unsaid but Bucky could see only a resounding yes and so he leaned in.

Their lips touched in the sweetest of kisses, slotting together perfectly. Steve’s lips were soft and plush against his own, one hand going to Bucky’s hip. He’d never believed in that whole sparks flying analogy but damned if he didn’t feel tingles running up and down his spine, bursts of warmth in his stomach. It went on, and on, neither of them wanting to part ways, as they stepped closer into each other. Steve let go of his hand in favour of cradling the back of Bucky’s head, which allowed him to slide his hands up over the other man’s pectorals. Steve was kissing him like it was nobody’s business and he wondered if anyone had kissed him this way before - with so much attention and focus. A wolf whistle had them pulling apart though and Bucky took in Steve’s pinkened cheeks and reddening lips, knowing he was reflecting the same effects. Their shared gaze never faltered, twin chuckles leaving them, high on giddiness and elation. Bucky only wanted more.

“Wanna go back to your place?” Steve whispered.

He was still standing close to Steve, noticing how soft that shirt was under his fingertips. Sure, it was forward for a second date but Bucky felt like he’d been waiting a lifetime for this. The thought made him stop.

It didn’t feel like that for _Steve_. 

The guy didn’t know that Bucky was secretly the childhood friend he had spent a majority of the night talking about as he ran through his memories of the island. And, fuck, the moment he confessed he knew the night would end. Bucky drew away, feeling guilty and dirty, and like if he kept in contact with Steve any longer, the ugliness of his character would rub off on the other man. He couldn’t afford to tarnish Steve like that. The guy deserved the world, not this lie.

Steve, picking up on the emotional withdrawal, frowned in concern immediately. “Hey. What’s wrong? We don’t have to do anything that you don’t want to do, James.”

Bucky, whose eyes had turned away, nodded in acknowledgment. He wanted to say the words, was trying to force them out, but it felt like his throat was closing shut. This was so _good_ , Steve was incredible and everything that Bucky didn’t deserve but yearned for, and he’d lose it all because of what a shit stain he’d become.

“Can you take me home?” He finally asked, the implications of his words obvious. Home where Bucky could curl into a ball and beat himself up over this colossal failure; home without Steve nor the prospect of the man ever waking up in the bed beside him like Bucky had imagined so many times in the past few weeks.

Steve’s hand rose to reach out but he must’ve thought better of it because it fell back to his side. “Yeah, James. Sure. Whatever you need.”

They walked back to the bike in silence, no fingers intertwined or shoulders bumping. He knew he was being a complete nutcase with how his demeanour had shifted from happy and lusting to stewing in fear and self-hate. Steve, so damned kind and understanding, didn’t push Bucky for any answers, leaving him alone. 

The ride home was much less fun than the ride to the island, most of it spent with him trying to come to terms with how he’d lose this. Steve had been, and still felt like, his best friend, and even after nearly two decades apart Bucky hadn’t cherished him enough to be truthful from the start. And talking to Steve these past few weeks had only shown him that the guy was still the kind, compassionate, spitfire that Bucky had always known - if not more so. If he had come clean in the hospital that first night, they might’ve been happy together already. He might’ve already woken up to see Steve lying next to him, tucked into the safety of those arms.

When they got back, Steve stopped the bike in a spot at the end of the block. “I’ll walk you to your door,” he said, his voice nothing but worried.

Bucky only nodded. He had about five minutes to come clean and damn it all, he’d get the words out. He made to start a few times, eyes glued to the concrete, but a tide of dread swallowed the words up each time he parted his lips. 

“Look, James, I-”

“Bucky?”

 

Oh God, not again. And, shit, not _him_.

“Well, well, Bucky Barnes. Been a stranger these days huh? I’ve been waiting all night,” Brock Rumlow stood up from the steps outside Bucky’s door, approaching them. This time he knew there was no way Steve could miss the name. Out of all the possible ways for him to find out, Bucky had not imagined this one. Must’ve been his karma to deserve something so horrifying.

“What’s the matter, baby? Cat got your tongue because you’re so surprised to see me?” Brock spoke, getting close enough to reach out. 

Bucky flinched back at the same time that Steve extended a hand to stop Brock’s. “Excuse me, I don’t think he wants you to do that.”

Brock’s sickening gaze slid over to Steve and Bucky wanted to jump off a cliff. He knew what the man would say and fuck it all, why had he lost all ability to _speak_?

“Who are you? His new guy?” A cold scoff dropped from Brock’s lips. “You got all made up for him, didn’t you?” The question was directed towards Bucky. “Yeah, I saw you walking out of the salon the other day, looking all happy. Sweetheart, if you had your life back together you should’ve told me. You know I’ll take you back.”

Bucky’s eyes were shifting from Brock to Steve, realizing just how ugly this could get because Brock _knew_ him - knew how pathetic he was - and a dirtbag like him would not be above telling _Steve_ those things.

Brock moved forward and Bucky took a reflexive step back. Steve took the chance to move slightly in between them, effectively shielding him.

“Sir, I think you should leave. Your presence is clearly not wanted,” Steve spoke, voice firm like Bucky had never heard before.

“Wha- Who are you again?” Brock repeated, squinting at Steve, annoyed like he was just some kind of pest in Brock’s way. “Tell me - _Who. The fuck. Are you?_ ” He repeated, poking hard at Steve’s shoulder. Bucky blanched at the aggressive contact. Oh no. If Brock hurt Steve he wasn’t sure what he would do. He couldn’t allow it. 

“Brock, stop,” Bucky interjected, stepping away from the safety of Steve’s figure to push his ex away. “Steve, go home. I can take care of this.”

“Steve?” Brock dropped the name like it was poison on his tongue. There was some kind of recognition there and Bucky went cold. “Really? That’s just sad, Bucky.”

“Brock, don’t,” Bucky rushed out but he was too late.

Laughing darkly, Brock threw his hands up in the air, “When are you going to get over that kid? You knew him fucking twenty years ago. Did you know that, _Steve_? Bucky here’s got a burning flame for his childhood friend. Can you guess his name?”

Bucky wanted the ground to swallow him up whole. He’d mentioned having a childhood love _once_ to Brock and the guy went and got jealous about it. Anyone else might’ve thought it was cute but evidently Brock wasn’t the sentimental type.

“Yeah, that’s right. _Little Stevie Rogers_ ,” Brock sang the last part in a scornful tone.

Horror washed through him and he didn’t dare look over his shoulder to see Steve’s face. Bucky pushed Brock back hard, anger rising fast, “Why the hell are you here?”

Brock only laughed again, his expression turning into one of mock guilt, “Oh no. Did I touch a nerve? See, man?” He asked Steve, “That kid could be fucking _dead_ and this guy still loses his sh-”

Skin met skin as Bucky sent his fist into Brock’s face, knocking the guy back onto his ass. “Don’t you _dare_ talk about him, don’t even say his name. Steve deserves way better than that, you fucking asshole.”

Huffing in disbelief, Brock swiped his hand across his lip though no blood had been shed. “I don’t know why I came. You’re still insane.” He got to his feet, dusting his pants off. “Seriously dude, guy’s crazy. Run while you can.” 

He felt Steve’s arm against his as the man came to stand beside him, “He’s better than you’ll ever know and if you talk about him like that again, you’re going to be bleeding the next time you get punched.”

Brock’s eyes flashed with anger but he he shook his head. “Whatever. You’ll see.” He stormed away the next second, getting into his car with a slam of the door before screeching out of the parking spot. Bucky was too angry and terrified to even notice the sounds that might trigger him on any other day.

They were left standing in silence, Bucky’s blood rushing behind his ears from the short burst of adrenaline. His right hand was throbbing from the punch but the reason for his silence wasn’t pain - it was fear. His cover was blown, by Brock no less, and Steve had learnt that Bucky had been carrying a torch for him this whole time, alongside everything else.

“Hey,” Steve spoke first.

Bucky, fists clenched, shook his head. “You should go Steve.”

“Hey, just listen to me for a se-”

“No. You should go. I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve any of this. I meant to tell you, I swear, I just-” He felt tears stinging at his eyes but crying was the least shameful thing he’d done all day. 

“Bucky,” Steve moved to stand in front of him, those hands reaching out to cup his jaw. 

“Bucky, I knew.”

A few seconds passed, the words registering, and then his eyes shot up, wide with confusion, “W-what?”

Steve sighed, running his thumbs across Bucky’s cheeks to swipe at the tears that had fallen. “I knew. I went to the hospital again to see you and I saw your ma there. Didn’t talk to her, but I saw her go into your room.”

Bucky blinked, the mix of emotions running through him not discernible yet. “You never said anything.”

“I know. I’m sorry. I didn’t want to do it in the hospital and then on our first date, I was sure you remembered me by the way you looked at me, but you never said anything, and you never used your name. I couldn’t figure out why. And then I realized that you wanted it that way since you never tried to avoid me or push me away. I figured you just needed time,” Steve explained, a sympathetic look on his features. 

“And? Aren’t you mad at me?” Bucky asked, searching those deep blues for any anger, scorn. He saw only patience and sympathy there - an outcome he’d never expected even in the best scenarios.

“I was a little hurt. Confused. But not mad...You’re Bucky. I came back to Brooklyn hoping I would find you and there you were. I was ready to give you all the time you needed if it meant I could be friends with you again. Or more.”

Bucky’s hands rose to curl around Steve’s wrists, intending to pull those hands from his face, but instead he was holding on, a silent plea - _don’t go_. “Steve. Stevie. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have lied. I was just scared. I’m messed up. I’m not...I’m not that kid you know anymore.”

“Bucky, if you haven’t noticed, I’m not little Stevie Rogers anymore either,” a smile danced across Steve’s lips, brows tilting up, “I don’t know what happened for you to believe that about yourself, but I do know you, Bucky. You saved a cat from a burning building the first night I saw you again. That only showed me that you haven’t really changed. Not at the heart of you.”

He shook his head, dropping his gaze, “I lied to you. The old me never would’ve done that. You don’t deserve that or any of the rest of my bullshit.”

Steve sighed again, and when Bucky looked up he could see annoyance on his face. “That asshole play a part in making you believe those things?”

Bucky frowned, “He was right about some of them.”

“No,” Steve responded, “he really wasn’t.”

“Steve-”

Bucky was cut off with Steve leaning in and planting a kiss on his lips. He was too surprised to respond at first but his body quickly took over, kissing back. 

“Bucky,” Steve started after pulling away, still keeping his face tipped in close, “these past few weeks have been incredible for me. Talking to you everyday, sharing laughs, made me feel like I had my best friend back. I know you lied and I forgive you for it, but Bucky, we gotta move past it though, don’t we? For this?” He glanced down at Bucky’s lips.

He swallowed hard, eyes flicking to Steve’s lips as well. The guilt was still present but Bucky felt lighter without the weight of a lie on his shoulders. And the most amazing part that chased the dark emotions away was that Steve was still _here_. Still _wanted_ him. 

“You’re really sure about this?” He whispered, doing his best to make those doubtful parts of his heart believe. 

Steve leaned in, a breath away, and spoke, “Absolutely.” 

Their lips met again and Bucky made a noise of relief. His hands went to Steve’s chest, and those arms were back around him. Steve kissed him with renewed fervour and this time Bucky didn’t have any demons over his shoulder telling him how wrong this was. 

“Come on. Come inside,” Bucky urged when they parted, both breathing a little heavier, hotter. He reached for Steve’s wrist and pulled him along as he made for the door. 

The moment they were inside, Bucky was being crowded in against the wall. Steve kissed him like he was hungry and couldn’t get enough. He dragged his tongue along the seam of Bucky’s lips, sliding it in the moment they parted. Bucky moaned at the sensation, feeling Steve’s tongue mingle with his. He was breathless, pupils blown, and when Steve pulled away Bucky saw those things reflected in the other man.

Steve’s thumb came up to his lip, running across it, “Fuck, you’re pretty.”

He blushed, both wanting to shy away from Steve’s intense focus and to bask in it. Bucky brought his arms down around the man’s shoulders, pushing into his body and searching for those lips again. 

There was a bit of shifting and then their jackets were off, slightly more skin exposed but nowhere near enough. Nevertheless, Steve’s hands started to rove over his body, sliding down his waist, and ending at his rear where Steve took two fistfuls. Bucky jerked at the groping, a little gasp of surprise leaving his lips. “Christ, Stevie,” he muttered, finding Steve’s mouth again and tugging that plush bottom lip between his teeth. Steve enjoyed it if the sound he made was anything to go by.

Bucky wasn’t sure if they’d even make it farther into the room, let alone into his bedroom, at the pace they were moving. Apparently Steve realized the same thing because one moment Bucky was on the ground, and the next he wasn’t. Steve had gripped the back of his thighs and _hoisted_. Bucky’s legs swung around him out of reflex, ankles locking as Steve held him up securely. Fuck, the show of strength was so hot, only making him grow harder in his jeans, which were growing way too constricting for his burgeoning erection. 

Steve began moving then and Bucky pointed out the direction of the hallway to the bedroom. His hold never once faltered although he did bump into walls here and there with how Bucky was distracting him with his tongue. He backed into the door to push it open and once he was by the bed, lowered Bucky onto the sheets. Steve started stripping off his shirt and Bucky took the chance to flick the bedside lamp on, grabbing a condom and lube while he was there. 

It didn’t take long for Steve to climb on over top of him, rising up along his body and hovering. Bucky stared up into those darkened eyes. For a moment the urgency subsided, allowing them to just look at each other. Steve was without his shirt now, muscles shifting gloriously under the dim light. Bucky still had his on but the idea of stripping it off brought those insecurities back.

“I should warn you - the scars, they ain’t nice to look at,” he said, praying that Steve wouldn’t be disgusted when he saw them. 

Steve didn’t answer, only slipping his fingers under Bucky’s shirt. He started working it up and Bucky helped him tug it over his head. This was the moment of truth and he held is breath, baring his biggest insecurity to Steve.

The man made a little gasp and Bucky imagined what he was seeing. Messy, jagged, scars at the seam where silver metal met flesh. It was a stark and unnatural contrast that would have anyone repulsed.

“May I?” Steve asked, reaching a hand out towards Bucky’s shoulder. 

He nodded, throat working as he swallowed hard. No one else besides doctors and nurses had touched them and Bucky had never expected Steve to _want_ to. 

Large, calloused fingertips brushed gently over the bumps of scar tissue. Steve’s touch was featherlight, like he was afraid he was going to hurt Bucky, and it sent a shiver down his spine. He couldn’t feel much in the area but he could feel Steve’s focus and care. 

The man leaned down, lips running over the scars, settling kisses upon them. Bucky’s eyes fluttered shut at the flood of warmth and acceptance, relief. God, he didn’t deserve this. 

“You’re beautiful, Bucky. Most precious thing I’ve ever seen,” Steve spoke against his skin, running his other hand down to Bucky’s hip. 

He let out a shuddering breath and blinked up at the ceiling. The words sounded so genuine, the polar opposite of Brock’s vitriol at just seeing Bucky’s imperfections. He wasn’t sure if he believed what Steve was saying, at least not yet, but he sure as hell wanted to. 

The touch of Steve’s lips travelled along his collarbone and up his throat, drawing skin between his teeth here and there. He knew those spots would be red, Steve’s mark upon him and _yes, please, more._

The words might’ve left without his notice because Steve responded, “As many as you want, baby.” And, true to his words, suckled harder at the skin under Bucky’s jaw. 

He was fully hard in his pants, leaking into his briefs, but he didn’t want to rush Steve. It’d been so long since someone had touched him like this and he didn’t want it to be over. But his body had other ideas. Bucky’s hips jerked up to press his groin against Steve’s and he could feel the bulge in those jeans too. 

The man let out a heavy breath, grinding his hips down to chase the sensation. That hand on his hip gravitated towards the button of Bucky’s jeans and Steve paused there, looking up, “This alright, sweetheart?”

Bucky nodded quickly, eyes hooded as he looked down the line of his body to Steve’s hand. 

Steve undid his button and pushed at the denim, Bucky helping to shimmy them down and off along with his briefs. He was completely bare for Steve to see now, and though he felt self conscious, mostly Bucky felt safe under that gaze. “Fuck, just _look_ at you.” Steve curled his hand around Bucky’s erection, making his hips jerk at the contact. 

His lips parted with a gasp, eyes falling shut as he pushed his head back into the pillow. Steve’s hand felt perfect around him, especially when his thumb ran over the head of his cock, spread the little bead of precum around. 

“You too, come on,” Bucky demanded, pushing ineffectually at the sides of Steve’s jeans. The other man chuckled, letting go of Bucky’s cock to rise to his knees and work his bottoms off. 

They were fully naked with one another finally, and Bucky could appreciate Steve’s build and muscle mass. The dim lighting was accentuating every curve and cut of Steve’s physique, leaving Bucky almost drooling with want. And that cock. Christ- “Steve, fuck me. Please. I want you.” It’d been so long, would probably hurt like hell tomorrow, but he knew it would feel amazing with the tender care Steve was showing himself to be capable of. 

Steve leaned in for a kiss, much to Bucky’s dismay, and parted with a knowing smile, “You want me that bad, baby?” 

Bucky groaned, grabbing the lube himself and pushing it into Steve’s hand. “So bad. Need it.”

Steve grinned, travelling down Bucky’s body briefly, drawing a nipple into his mouth that had Bucky’s cock twitching. “Mm, you liked that huh?” 

Bucky nodded and gripped at the bedsheets. He’d always had sensitive nipples.

There was sound of foil tearing as Steve rolled the condom onto himself and then the pop of a cap. He watched as Steve dribbled lube over his fingers, rubbing them together to warm the substance. Bucky drew his legs up without being asked, letting his knees fall open. Steve was courteous enough to grab a pillow to brace Bucky’s lower back with, tipping his ass up for the taking as well. 

“Look at that,” Steve marvelled, running a lubed finger down the line of Bucky’s cock, over his perineum, and around his fluttering hole. 

“Tease,” Bucky breathed, glowering down at Steve despite the hitches of breath.

With an index finger Steve spread the lube around Bucky’s hole, soon testing at the ring of muscle. When he began dipping the tip of his finger in proper, Bucky’s lips stayed parted, letting out little gasps. For him the stretch was slightly uncomfortable but he knew what the payoff would be once he was worked open. 

It took a little longer than he’d wanted, his cock straining by the time Steve could get two fingers in Bucky’s ass. When those clever digits brushed over his prostate, he nearly lost it then and there, only a miracle keeping him together. “M’not gonna last,” He whined, warned, head shifting from side to side restlessly. 

“S’okay, baby. I wanna see you fall apart. So good for me,” Steve’s voice was deep with lust and he thought he could feel the reverberations of it through those fingers in his ass. 

“Please. Want you. I can take it,” Bucky begged. 

Steve nodded, pressing a kiss over Bucky’s sternum, and passed a stroke of lube over his own cock. He was up on his knees, an arm hooked under one of Bucky’s while the other aligned his cock to that twitching hole. 

Bucky keened as Steve breached him, the stretch of his hole around the head of Steve’s cock absolutely delicious. It burned but as Steve sank in further, the discomfort gave way to a feeling of fullness, of relief.

“Ah, fuck,” Steve whispered, seating himself to the hilt and straightening his back. He was a long line of gorgeous towering over Bucky and he loved the feeling of being laid out for the man.

Bucky gave a clench around Steve only to hear the man hiss, and smirked playfully up at him. 

“Who’s the tease now?” Steve muttered.

“You know you love it,” Bucky grinned.

“I do,” Steve answered after a moment, his tone sincere. He didn’t elaborate, say those three words, but Bucky thought he could hear them in the air and the possibility wasn’t scary at all. He loved Steve. He’d loved Steve even before he knew what that meant. 

Bucky reached out and his searching hand found Steve’s, their intertwined fingers coming to rest on the bed by his head. He hitched his legs up around the other man’s waist and took in a deep breath as Steve began to move. The first few pushes were slow, Steve’s hips rolling to push into every angle of Bucky’s insides. But soon his pace built, sinking into Bucky all the way each time. He was shuddering with the effort to keep himself together, the hand not intertwined with Steve’s curling around the man’s bicep. If his nails dug in to leave crescents behind, Steve made no indication of pain.

“Steve, _fuck_ , Steve,” Bucky moaned, body jerking with every push inside. He was breathing hard, eyes unfocused as the sensations drowned out everything else. Steve was breathing just as heavily, the thrust of his hips stuttering with the effort to keep it together too. 

Soon Steve was leaning over, lips searching for Bucky’s to swallow the sounds that left him. His free hand reached down in between them, taking Bucky’s cock in his grasp.

“I’m gonna cum,” He warned, complained, feeling Steve’s pants hot over the skin of his throat when their lips parted.

Smiling, Steve responded, “Good.”

The last couple of thrusts hit Bucky’s prostate dead on which was the reason he could only endure two more before he felt the climax rush up his cock and burst free. His hips spasmed, vision whiting out as Bucky moaned through the pleasure.

Steve followed seconds after, burying himself deep inside Bucky as he came with a low, choked, groan. 

Both men were left panting, coming back to themselves slowly. Steve’s head had dropped down to Bucky’s shoulder and he had taken the chance to bury his free hand into those short blond locks, damp with sweat now. 

“Felt so good, thank you,” Steve whispered, running his lips over Bucky’s shoulder. 

Bucky shook his head, “I ought to be the one thanking you. It’s been a long time. Forgot it could be that good.”

Steve hummed and a minute later, began to pull his cock free. He tied off the condom and tossed it into the trash, reaching out for a tissue to clean Bucky’s cum off his stomach. Steve grabbed at the covers, maneuvering them both under the soft duvet where Bucky could finally burrow into Steve’s embrace. It felt even better than he imagined, those deft fingers sinking into his hair and scratching at his scalp. 

He was exhausted from the day and the emotional roller coaster he’d been on that nothing on Coney Island compared to. In the end it had all went better than expected, Bucky tucked safe into Steve’s arms, warm and sated. His eyes were beginning to droop with how comfortable he felt, Steve’s light caresses ushering him into sleep quicker. He let his eyes fall shut with the knowledge that, when he woke up, Steve would be there. And if there was a whisper of an _I love you_ , Bucky was just there enough to say it back before drifting off.

***

In the morning, Bucky woke to the feeling of a gaze on him. A smile was spreading his lips before he even opened his eyes. “Staring at me?”

Steve’s deep chuckle reverberated through the bed as fingers brushed away the hair in his face. “Can’t help it,” he replied, voice sleep rough and melodic. 

Bucky finally blinked his eyes open, smile turning shy under Steve’s attention. The man was cradling Bucky’s left hand in one of his, the other playing with Bucky’s hair. 

“Good morning, sweetheart,” Steve spoke, pressing a kiss to Bucky’s metal fingers. 

“Morning,” Bucky replied. He couldn’t help himself and shimmied in closer, leaning in to press a light kiss to Steve’s lips, morning breath be damned. He saw something out of the corner of his eye and looked over Steve to the nightstand on the other side of the bed. “S’that what I think it is?”

Steve hummed, “Yeah. I got up a while ago and had some water. Didn’t think I’d find that. Can’t believe you kept it all these years.

Bucky blushed, rose up onto his elbow, and reached out for the book. “Pass it over here. I haven’t looked through it in a long time.”

They both sat up, their backs against the headboard as Steve got an arm around Bucky’s shoulders. The album sat across their laps, heavy with the many pictures that documented years of their lives. 

“You don’t look at it much?” Steve asked as he ran his hand over the front cover where faded stickers mingled with film negatives that held indiscernible pictures now. 

A little embarrassed, Bucky shook his head. “Couldn’t bring myself to. After we stopped talking it...felt like you found other friends, better than me. Looking at the album after that just got me sad.”

Steve made a pained noise, tightening his hold around Bucky’s shoulders. “We’re idiots. I felt the same way. You were always the popular one and I had been a burden our entire friendship. Figured without me around you were finally living freely.”

Bucky looked up, face twisted with a frown, “What? That’s the dumbest thing I ever heard.”

The other man chuckled, shaking his head, “I guess we split the stupid up evenly when I left.”

Steve cracked the album open, revealing the first spread of pictures. It was a large thing, 4 x 6 photos covering each page with some polaroids stuck in here and there. 

They looked over the pictures with wonder, each one bringing up memories as they flipped through the pages. Steve looked wistful every time he saw his ma, and it was Bucky’s turn to squeeze his hand tight. 

Somewhere in the middle they found pictures taken in Steve’s home - of flowers, of an altar, of two boys bent over a table colouring a shared piece of paper. On the next page there were pictures of the boys holding hands, brandishing ring pops on their fingers. There was a shot of Sarah throwing popcorn over them as they walked down the aisle after the ceremony, and then another few of them signing the paper with their eight- and nine- year-old signatures. The certificate itself had been tucked into one of the photo slots and Bucky carefully pulled it free. 

“Do you remember this?” Bucky whispered, flattening the paper out. It was done all colourful with letters askew but legible. Three signatures were at the bottom - from Steve, Bucky, and Sarah. 

“Course I do,” Steve answered, running his hand over the page like it would feel familiar. “It was my first and only wedding. How could a guy forget?”

Bucky grinned, turning to look up at Steve, “Only, huh? Ever?”

Steve shrugged, looking right back at him, “Nabbed my best guy young and we had this promise, ya see? Till the end of the line.”

His heart did a little flip, no shred of nerves at what Steve was implying so early on in their adult relationship.

He never thought it could end up like this, his imaginings not accounting for the sheer impossibility of Steve. But now he was forgiven and pressed in close to the warmth of the other man. He’d have to spend his days making up for his mistakes but a part of him - maybe that kid he’d thought had long disappeared - told him Steve would stay by his side. After all, the man had kept his promise by coming back to find him, despite all the years.

Steve kept all his promises.

“Might be time to renew your vows,” Bucky replied after a while, tipping his head up.

Those blue eyes danced as they met Bucky’s, sparkling under the morning light as he closed the distance to meet Bucky’s lips. 

“I plan to.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! This has been the first long thing I've ever written independently and completed so it's my greatest pleasure to share it with all of you. Though I hit a few obstacles here and there (namely at the end, when I accidentally deleted my first post of this fic), it's been a wild and enjoyable ride.
> 
> I hope to write a lot more from here on out so any constructive criticism/advice is welcome! 
> 
> And if any of you want to chat or share ideas with me (I'm _always_ down to talk Stucky) you can come visit me [here](http://chanolay.tumblr.com/)


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